


What I Did For Love

by msparavox26



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-12 19:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 51,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9087922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msparavox26/pseuds/msparavox26
Summary: As punishment for her brother's attempt to take over the government, Lena Luthor has been purposefully picked as District 3's latest tribute for the Hunger Games. Too bad she'll never meet the woman whose name is on her arm: Kara Zor-El.Kara Danvers, an alien from another planet masquerading as human, finds out that her soulmate has been reaped and decides to volunteer as tribute in order to protect Lena, even if that means Kara herself won't be coming out alive.Minor Maggie/AlexRecaps of the story will exist at the beginnings of some chapters if I haven't updated in awhile in case you forget what happened previously but don't want to read it all again.





	1. The Reaping

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome, I plan to not follow the exact Hunger Games formula and to switch it up a bit so yes some major plot points may be different. I hope you guys enjoy it!

The Reaping

Lena Luthor POV

There’s a difference between people who are marked for death and people who die unexpectedly: those who die unexpectedly carry a far heavier burden of never saying all they wanted to say, never having the chance to right their wrongs; those who are marked for death have come to terms with what’s about to happen and the burden then falls on their loved ones who can’t cope with the inevitability. That’s what I learned as I watched my mom going through every document in Lex’s old desk looking for some way to save me before the inevitable occurs.

  
I’ve never been my mother’s favorite. Hell, I was never really in the running. I knew that. Lex knew that. Anybody who really knew my mother and our unorthodox family knew it too. Lex was hers by birth and he was everything she ever wanted from a child: handsome, charismatic, smart, passionate, and ambitious.

  
After Lex worked his way up and joined the capital mother had been so proud of him. He’d done it, and coming from District 3 no less. Coming from district 3 is more advantageous than most, but we’re still not at the top of the heap. He was a success story like no other. He’d even met President Non.

  
Me on the other hand, I was just some orphan child she adopted for appearances and because Lex, for some strange reason, urged her to adopt me. I guess he loved me enough to want to be my brother. I tried to live up to every expectation she had for her children and more, but I was never her favorite.

  
Maybe now, however, I’m her favorite. Lex is dead after all after the stunt he pulled five months ago.

  
The press called him a lunatic. Of course they did, he tried to overthrow the government and the press is controlled by the government. I don’t think he was a lunatic. I think he just cracked under the stress and unlimited amount of power he had recently been given. But, what do I know. Maybe he was just a lunatic. He did attempt to overthrow the government and become president himself after all.

  
It disgusts me. Not the rebellion, but the fact that he had the ability to change so much, whether from the inside through smaller regulations to make society just a little bit better for those not in Districts 1, 2, and 4 or even cause a true rebellion of freedom, but instead he selfishly tried to grab power for himself in the stupidest manner possible.

  
Now, I pay the price.

  
Everybody from District 3 knows exactly what’s going to happen tomorrow. There are no odds or chances in my favor. Tomorrow, my name is going to be reaped in retaliation for Lex’s stunt. It’ll send out a message to every potential uprising: You will fail and everyone you love will pay the price.  
Maybe it’s justice that I pay for Lex’s crimes. Maybe it’s bullshit that I don’t get to prove myself as my own woman. I don’t know and, frankly, I don’t care anymore. Why should I ponder the possibilities over something inevitable? It will only lead to further resentment.

  
I’ve accepted what’s going to happen to me tomorrow. I just wish that my mother would too. Instead, she is, looking through Lex’s desk for any possible connection he might have left in the capital to prevent my name from being picked at the reaping tomorrow. Despite disliking me most of her life, she’s fighting for me to stay alive. I think maybe this is her expressing that she loves me, in her own fucked up way. Or maybe she just can’t stand to lose another child the way she lost Lex. Either way, I just wish she’d put down the papers and come over here and hug me, assure me that she loves me and that it’ll be alright, even though we both know that’s bullshit.

  
I glance down at my arm, tracing my fingers over the familiar section of skin: Kara Zor-El. So this is how I die: without a friend in the world (all abandoned after Lex’s stunt), a soulmate I’ve never met and who will never know me as anything more than the sister of the lunatic who died, rightfully, in the games, and a mother who never loved me much to begin with and who, even in my last hours, refuses to admit she might have ever loved me.

  
What a life I’ve lived.

Kara Danvers POV

“Kara! Alex! The reaping for District 3 is on,” Eliza Danvers calls out from the living room.

  
“God, I don’t want to watch another one of these,” sighs Alex heavily. Kara could see the toll it took on her family – on everybody – to watch every year. Just another way to remind the citizens of PanNational how helpless they were. It always hit Alex especially hard since her friend Briana Vasquez was reaped 3 years ago, killed in the top 6. It was the Quarter Quell that year.

  
“I like to think of it as us making sure people’s names are remembered after they get reaped. It’s up to us to remember their names,” I reply.

  
“Kara,” she chuckles in a way that lacks any mirth or humor. “That’s a beautiful way to look at it, but let’s be honest. It’s us standing by as we watch others kill each other, just thankful it isn’t us.” With that, she strides past me with her tall, confident strut. The only indication that she was at all affected was the clenching and unclenching of her fists.

  
I hurriedly run to catch up and take my seat on the couch between her and Eliza as the District 3 announcer, Harrison Wells, begins to speak. “The time has come for us to select one brave young man and woman for the honor of representing District 3 in the 78th Annual Hunger Games.”

  
Alex’s hand intertwines with mine, although she never looks at me when she does. She just keeps staring head on at the TV, but she knows how important this is to me. This, we found out last year after her brother’s rise to fame, is Lena’s district.

  
“First, the ladies,” he says. Harrison Wells walks over for what seems like hours, even though I know it’s only seconds, as he picks out a name from the clear, glass bowl.

  
I shut my eyes tight and send out a prayer into the universe. Please, Rao, do not let him choose Lena Luthor’s name. Let her be safe. Let her be okay. I grip Alex’s hand a little tighter, thankful she’s letting me hold it.

  
“LENA LUTHOR,” he announces in a loud, booming voice that shatters my entire world. I feel Alex’s hands squeeze mine just a little bit tighter as Eliza’s calming voice coos, “Kara, oh sweetie.”

  
In that moment, it feels like my soulmate tattoo is on fire. Whether it really is or I’m just imagining it I don’t know but it urges me on to do the thing that has been whispering in the back of my mind ever since I found out Lena’s district.

  
With sudden speed, I jump off the couch and turn to face Alex and Eliza, my back towards the rest of the reaping happening in District 3. “I’m going to volunteer today,” I announce boldly. My voice sounds confident, just the way I wanted it to and quite the opposite of the way I feel.

  
“WHAT!” They both yell in shock.

  
Alex is the first one to recover, immediately responding with a counterattack. “Kara, you can’t. This could completely blow your cover! There are cameras on you all the time. The second you show any sign of being an alien they’ll know!”

  
“Sweetie, I know this hurts right now but let’s not make any rash decisions,” replies Eliza. She stands up and begins to rub my arm soothingly as if it’ll solve everything.

  
“I’m not making a rash decision. This has been on my mind for months,” I reply calmly to my mother. “Alex, I’ve lived under the radar my whole life. I haven’t slipped up in years. I can look human. Plus, the fact that I am an alien makes me the most qualified to protect her. Without me, Lena doesn’t stand a chance.”

  
“Yeah? And what exactly are you planning to do?” If I had a superpower to sense fury, I think I’d be able to visibly see Alex’s. “Only one person comes out of that arena alive! What good does it do Lena if you end up having to kill her?”

  
I visibly flinch at even the thought of killing Lena. I don’t really know her, but the idea of killing my soulmate is… unimaginable. “I’d be going in there to protect her, not kill her!” I respond in outrage.

  
“And what about you? If you go in there to save her, you die!” Alex screams, practically at the top of her lungs.

  
“That is, if you even can die,” says Eliza logically. “They won’t be prepared for your physiological standards. What they throw at you may not kill you and you’d be more likely to end up the survivor of the games with Lena dead.”

  
“I’m Kryptonian. I’ll pretend to die, get my body taken out of the games, and escape,” I reply.

  
“Oh, got everything figured out now?” Alex responds haughtily. “Tell me then, what if your little plan to lives goes off without a hitch. They’ll know you’re an alien. Don’t you remember Clark?”

  
In that moment, I feel utterly too human. As though the Red Sun had disappeared for months and I’d been left powerless. Out of respect, we’ve never said his name except in mourning or remembrance. Now, Alex had just used him as a bullet. “Of course I remember Clark!” I growl. “He meant more to me than he could ever mean to you. He was my cousin! He was the one person on this planet I was sent to protect. I could never forget him! Do not say his name.”

  
“They found out he was an alien,” Alex continues on despite my threat. “And they nuked all of District 13 just to kill him. Is that what you want to happen? One slip up and that’s what they’ll do!” she yells.

  
“Kara, this is absurd. Alex is right this doesn't just put you, but countless others at risk!” interrupts Eliza.

  
“So we sacrifice somebody’s life because they’re less important?” I reply righteously. The two of them don’t respond because yes. The answer is yes. We must admit that even when we fight for good, we are on the side of the morally reprehensible sometimes.

  
I feel my shoulders cave as I collapse onto the sofa. “Guys, I was sent here to protect Clark and I failed. Now, Lena needs my help. She needs protection and I can give it to her. She is my chance at redemption. She is my chance to protect somebody the fates themselves decreed,” I say, holding up my wrist. “I know it isn’t perfect. And I know it’s risky, but I’ll be careful. I have to do this. I don't think I could live in a world knowing that I had the opportunity to save my soul mate and just let her… die,” my voice goes horse. I can feel the tears threatening to fall. “But I need your guys’ help if I’m going to pull this off.” I look up at the two of them. Eliza’s face is falling apart, the look of a mother watching her child go off to war. It kills me to look at. But Alex’s. Alex’s is even worse because she’s looking at me with a fiery anger. If she doesn’t agree and I do this without her, I’ll have hurt her forever. “Are you with me? I need you to be with me.”

  
Eliza doesn’t respond. She just stands there, mouth agape and unsure what to do. Alex, on the other hand, stomps away furiously.

***

The reaping is incredibly tense this year. I can see Alex, stony faced and glaring at me every second of the way. I know her. I know what she’ll do if I try to volunteer. She’ll volunteer in my place. I can see it. I have to be faster.

  
To my left are Lucy and Mike. I can literally see the sweat coming off of Mike. He had to put in his name an extra 15 times for more food rations, keeping his brother’s name in there only once. Lucy, on the other hand, looks calm and focused. I know she’s scared, but being the daughter of a Peacekeeper gives her an advantage in the games and she’s never been one to let her fears get the best of her. If she were chosen, she’d take it in stride.

  
Cat Grant steps up to the podium, every click of her heels thundering in our ears. I wonder what it must be like, to look down at a crowd and have to spout off some rhetoric about how honorable the games are as every face in the audience looks at you in sheer terror, the both of you knowing every word from your mouth is a lie. I wonder how it must feel to send kids off to their death without a choice.

  
It must break your heart.

  
“The time for us has come to select one valiant young man and women for the honor of representing District 12 in the 78th annual The Hunger Games,” she says in an almost bored tone of voice, as if perhaps this is all above her.

  
“For the girls, the tribute is,” she walks over to the glass bowl filled with names, the obnoxious clacking of her heels probably driving every on-edge potential pick mad. “Iris Allen.”

  
As soon as her name is called, I yell out, “I volunteer as tribute.”

  
In my echo, I hear Alex’s voice attempt to say it faster, but she fails.

  
“Oh,” says Ms. Grant in genuine shock. She looks almost… impressed. “It seems we have a volunteer. Come on up!”

  
I glance over to Mike and Lucy who are both looking at me in shock and fear. Neither knows I’m an alien. Neither knows I was going to do this. I wonder if they know why I am doing this. Lucy knows who my soulmate is after all. I shoot them a brave, steely smile as I mouth a promise to Winn that Eliza will explain everything.

  
Eliza is standing off to the side, hand in her mouth and tears in her eyes. She looks… mournful, but not wholly surprised. I think she knew that with or without anybody’s approval this is what I was going to do.

  
The last person I look to is Alex. What I see scares me more than anything I fear from the arena. It almost scares me as much as the idea of Lena dying on my watch because there’s my older sister – the girl who has always had her life together, always had a plan, even in the face of adversity or fear she put on a brave and confident face – and she’s lost and terrified without a clue what to do.

  
That strikes the fear of Rao into me. I never lose her eyes, trying to do anything at all to silently reassure her that everything will be alright, as the Peacemakers escort me up to the stage.

  
“And what is your name?” Ms. Grant asks.

  
“Kara. Kara Danvers.” My eyes don’t leave Alex’s as I say my name.

  
“Hmmm,” she looks me up and down with curiosity and a glint in her eyes. “Well, you’re certainly an interesting one.” Almost immediately she turns her attention on the rest of the ceremony as if whatever was interesting about me was of almost no consequence to her.

  
“And now, for the boys.” She walks over to the glass container filled with boys’ names and picks one out at random. “James Olson.”


	2. Meet Your Mentors

Meet Your Mentors

Kara POV

The second the reaping is over the peacekeepers drag us off of the stage. I don’t look away from Alex from a second until the doors close. The second they do my eyes flicker to my fellow… competitor? Is that what he is now? Is that how I’m supposed to look at him? Is he just another threat to Lena?  
I know him though. He was a friend of… Clark’s. A wave of sadness abruptly washes over me at the thought of Clark. Clark seemed to trust him. I’m not sure why. Does this make him an ally?

  
His eyes finally meet mine, but they don’t look like I expected. I expected some sort of terror. I almost expected tears in his eyes. I know if it were me – chosen on the spot and only human – that’s how I’d react. No. Instead he looks defiant and determined. He looks like he’s ready to fight and win.

  
It’s Ms. Grant who breaks the silence, back to the doors and looking as in-control as she always has. “My name is, of course, Cat Grant,” she says with a lazy wave of her hand. She immediately begins walking between James and I as she talks. “I won the 44th Hunger Games and I’m one of your mentors. In the next 5 minutes your friends and family will be allowed in, but only if they already appear by the doors of their own volition and if you give us their names to let them in. Over there, leaning like an idiot in the shadows, is your other mentor.”

  
Both James and I immediately turn our eyes to the man in all black leaning against the wall, arms crossed. We both know who he is. Winning The Hunger Games from District 12 is pretty notable after all. “I’m Hank Henshaw,” he says curtly. “If you would like, list off the names of who you would like to allow in now,” he says.

  
It doesn’t take me more than a second to know who I want to let in, but it still seems James beat me. “Winn Schott,” he announces. The three of us, plus I suppose the surrounding peacekeepers, wait for him to list more than one name, but he doesn’t. He looks solemnly at me and nods for me to say anybody I want to let in before I leave the district permanently.

  
“Uh…” I say, a bit startled to be put on the spot so quickly despite being ready. “Eliza Danvers, Alex Danvers, Lucy Lane, and Mike Gand.”

  
Hank nods once and indicates for a Peacekeeper to step out and make sure the 5 people are allowed in.

  
Almost immediately, Cat begins monologuing once again. “As I’m sure you know and I am loath, but required, to state, you will be allowed to bring one person with you as moral support, promotion, as sex buddy stress reliever, I don’t know. Whatever you stupid millennials do nowadays.” James and I both nod automatically. The power and control she demands from a room doesn’t leave for much else. “I imagine that won’t be a very difficult decision for you, Mr. Olson,” she says in a way that isn’t exactly insulting, but can’t really be taken another way. “Oh and please, avoid the waterworks. You’ve just been chosen to go into the most brutal thing that will ever happen to anybody on this whole damn earth. They are sharks in that arena. One hint of weakness and they will eat you alive. Start learning how to buck up now.”

  
I’m not sure what to think of her. I have, of course, heard the rumors about Ms. Grant. She’s one of Twelve’s most successful businesswoman, running a local newspaper after rising to fame and financing it with her winnings from the games. People say she’s absolutely ruthless, unapologetic, and arrogant. I’ve heard people say they’re almost as afraid of getting her as a mentor as they are of actually getting reaped. However, I’ve also heard how much energy she puts into trying to help her contestants win and, apparently, she’s a good mother as well to her son Carter who she tends to leave alone and out of The Hunger Games whenever possible.

  
I glance over at Hank for any possible indication to whether or not she’s a good mentor, but he stands there stoic and expressionless instead.  
In a second, the doors come bursting open with Eliza, Alex, Mike, Lucy, and Winn who I’ve seen around a couple times but know very little about. Eliza immediately embraces me in her arms. “Oh Kara,” she whispers.

  
I can feel the tears rise in my eyes before Cat’s warning rings in my head and I will them not to fall. If she does end up being my mentor, as I suspect she might since we’ll probably split up boys and girls like the reaping does, I ought to make a good impression. The idea flashes through my mind for the hundredth today that I might be losing another mother, but rather than her leaving me I’d be leaving her.

  
For a moment I feel a sense of guilt and regret rise in me to leave Eliza in the same way my own mother left me. We’re both just trying to do the right thing, but our wake we leave pain for our loved ones.

  
No longer able to bear touching her and thinking about the pain I’m inevitably causing, I let go. The second I do Alex slaps me directly across the face. I don’t feel it, not really of course, but I still react as though I do to keep up appearances.

  
“You goddamned idiot,” she murmurs, gripping her now throbbing hand.

  
“Oh Alex,” I whisper back, pulling her into my arms for a hug. She just stands there, nurturing her hand and refusing out of pure stubbornness to hug me back, but I know she wants to. We both need this.

  
Soon enough, I let go. For a moment I glance over at James whose hands are holding Winn’s face like a lover, his thumb wiping away a fat tear falling down Winn’s face. Winn’s arms mimic the same gesture. I hastily use my X-Ray vision and almost immediately see what I’m looking for: Winn’s soulmate tattoo on his left side, facing me, just above his waistband: James Olson.

  
I quickly turn back to my own friends and family, catching the distraught look on Lucy’s face and the freefalling tears from Mike. “Kara, what the hell were you thinking?” Lucy mutters as she brings me into a hug. “This girl,” she chuckles into my ear, “better be worth it. “I grin back at her, a sadness still in my eyes I’m sure. I’m glad that she at least kind of understands.

  
Mike, on the other hand, just flings himself into my arms. If I were human, he would’ve easily knocked me off my balance. “Kara, why did you do it?”  
After holding onto Mike a little bit longer, I slowly separate and discreetly show him my wrist that I usually keep covered by a series of soulmate-mark covering bracelets. His eyes widen instantly understanding. “Oh Kara, you old romantic,” he says with a small smile but a new well of tears emerging as he pulls me back into another hug. “You’re so stupid,” he mutters into my shoulder.

  
I smile, despite the circumstances, when I feel his arms wrap comfortingly around me again. Despite the façade Mike puts on, once you get to know him and really earn his trust he’s nothing more than a big puppy dog. “What can I say, Mike. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do,” I say lightheartedly.

  
After a few seconds, he replies quietly enough so only the two of us, and perhaps a lingering Cat, can hear. “I loved you, y’know,”

  
“I know,” I mutter back privately.

  
“Still do, even though you’re not the name on my body either.”

  
“I know.

“We could’ve been happy.”

  
“We could’ve.”

  
He separates from my arms to look me in the eyes and speaks a little louder so everyone can hear. “I hope… God, I don’t really know what I hope. Hell, I’m not even sure if I’m proud of you for following your heart considering it got you here. But I want you to know that I’m going to be rooting for you every step of the way.”

  
“Thanks Mike,” I say with a smile.

  
My eyes move onto Lucy, who is standing there, a proud daughter of a peacekeeper who doesn’t let her emotions show quite as easily as Mike. “You’re one of my best friends, Lucy.” We both know it. It doesn’t have to be said. “I’m going to need you to look after Mike and Eliza, alright?” I can hear the gasp come out of Eliza’s mouth. She thought that she’d be the one I’m bringing to the capital with me. “I ask because I know they’ll need it and you’re strong enough to do it. Will you?”

  
“Of course I will, Kara. Mike’s practically my little brother anyways and Eliza’s more my mother than my own ever was.” There’s a bit of spite in her voice towards her mother, but she knows now isn’t the time. Rather, she embraces me one last time. She doesn’t need to say anything more, and neither do I, to know we’ll both miss each other. “If you or Lena don’t fucking win, I’ll bring you back to life just to kick your ass.” I almost chuckle.

  
I look over to Eliza, a mess of tears falling down her face. I walk a step or two towards her and wipe them away with my hand. “You were such an amazing mother to me, Eliza. You took me in after everything. Despite all the risks. When I go out there, I hope to make your proud because I couldn’t be more proud to be your daughter,” I say. Immediately she pulls me into a hug.

  
“I love you,” she says.

  
“I love you, too.”

  
Finally, my attention turns towards the brooding idiot I love with all my heart. “I know you don’t approve of what I just did,” I say, “And I don’t much approve of you trying to out-volunteer me,” I joke. “So I guess that makes us even.” She suppresses it, but I can tell she smiles a little. “And you’re not through with my shenanigans yet, Alex. That is, if you’ll come with me to the capitol?”

  
She looks up at me for the first time since she’s entered the building. “Of course I will, idiot. Somebody’s gotta keep you alive and clearly your own sense of self-preservation is defective!”

***

Lena POV

“Lena Luthor, can’t say I’m surprised to see you here,” says Maxwell Lord as we settle down on the chairs of the train. “And alone I see.”

  
“Thanks for stating the obvious,” I respond snarkily. “How you won your games with a brain that sharp I will never know.”

  
“Charisma and a winning understanding of how to kill people with technology,” he responds darkly. He quickly follows up with a light and airy laugh that makes my skin crawl ever so slightly. I don’t trust him as far as I could throw him.

  
“You’ll notice how he didn’t say his obnoxious arrogance helped,” calls out Felicity Queen, my other mentor and one of the more recent victors. She rolls my way in her wheelchair, paralyzed from the legs down after an arrow pierced her spinal cord seconds before she won by electrocuting the shit out of them.

  
Maxwell smiles graciously but ultimately ignores Felicity’s comments, focusing in on my fellow tribute. “You, on the other hand, don’t have a very famous last name and an almost inevitable chance of getting chosen for the Games. Who are you again?” he asks with an airy, not particularly caring wave of his hand as he pours himself a drink.

“Uh, Jefferson Jackson, but most people just call me Jax. The guy next to me is Martin Stein.”

  
“Nice to meet ya, kid,” replies Max, back turned and clearly more interested in the drink he’s pouring than the kid whose life is in his hand. “And old timer.”

  
“Sure,” replies Jax uneasily.

  
“Lena Luthor,” I offer my hand to him, which he shakes about equally as warily as he regarded Max. “I’m not my brother,” I offer quickly to try and ease any tension between us, but apparently overtly bringing up Lex just makes him bristle even more.

  
“Felicity,” says the blonde, rolling over to shake both of our hands. She’s the only one all of us, even Max apparently, seem to be comfortable around. She just seems so… nice and accepting. I always marvel at people like that – so cheery – can win and keep their optimism and seeming happiness.

  
“Alright, we all know how The Games work,” says Maxwell, pulling me out of my thoughts. “A lot of it relies on stuff that’s out of your control: what kind of supplies you get and what kind of environment you land in. Do either of you have any skills?”

  
“I’m a natural with manipulating technology,” I respond.

  
“I can catch on pretty quickly to how tech works and I’m a decent fighter if it comes down to me and my fists,” Jax offers.

  
“Good. If you guys show that off they’ll leave tech in the ring, and possibly some sort of brass knuckles or enhanced punching technology for you, Jax,” pitches in Felicity.

  
“Yeah, it’s alright. I can at least work with that. Last year we had two complete dunces. Idiots with technology and not very good fighters. That’s why they died early,” says Max, finally sitting down on a couch opposite the two of us, spreading out contently. I glance over at Jax, a look of fear passing over his face, before Max continues. “We can train you a little bit, but the most important thing we can do for now is observe the contestants. You have to know who they are, what they’re good at, who to avoid, what are their weaknesses, who is most likely to join up as allies, etc.” He takes another sip of whatever drink he’s having.

  
“Well, I mean, don’t the careers always join up together,” offers Jax.

  
“Indeed, and who might they be?” Max challenges.

  
“Um… Carrie Cutter is from District 1 and Siobhan Smythe from District 2.” He pauses to think. “I don’t really remember the other two.”

  
“Oh, only pays attention to the ladies huh?”

  
“What – no!” Jax practically yells, completely flustered my Max’s comment. I roll my eyes at Max’s antics to get Jax riled up. One would think Max was the teenage boy on the train.

  
“Don’t be ashamed of it. They were both pretty hot,” comments Max.

  
“And underage,” I reply sharply. I notice Felicity smirk ever-so-slightly at my comment. I hope she ends up being my mentor.

  
“The other two were Hunter Zolomon from District 1 and Slade Wilson from District 2,” chimes in Mr. Stein.

  
“Precisely,” says Max. “And what do you guys know about them?” Both Jax and I stay silent. Besides their names, I don’t really know any of our competitors. I notice Felicity get on her computer almost immediately doing who knows what.

  
“Can’t say I know much about them either, but I’ve heard some rumors. Apparently Hunter is an out-of-his-goddamn-mind kind of psychopath. Although I’ve never heard much about him being a good fighter, he’s about crazy enough to do anything which makes him dangerous. The one thing I have heard, in terms of fighting, is that he’s fast. Apparently, sneak up on you out of nowhere.”

  
“According to the District 1 and 2 Academy’s databases that I just hacked,” interrupts Felicity, “what he said about Zolomon is true. Wilson is top of his class, practically a trained killer. Cutter the same general idea but not quite as good, still lethal. Smythe is a bit weirder. Not much of a natural fighter but good at using her surroundings to her advantage and very manipulative. Your regular Slytherin.”

  
Both Jax and I send her a confused look. “Slytherin? Like the Harry Potter books?” she says in a shocked, whiny voice as though it’s unfathomable we haven’t read them.

  
“I haven’t exactly had the time for pleasure reading, going to trial after trial condemning my brother,” I respond.

  
“Yeah, I work a job and go to high school. I don’t even do the mandatory readings,” adds on Jax.

  
“If you guys survive, you have to read Harry Potter,” she pouts.

***

Kara POV

“The Careers are obviously going to stick together, but everybody else is fair game. District 11 is pretty open to working with us because we’re so close to each other and we have a history of working together, but then again, only three of us have ever won in 78 years so perhaps other allies ought to be considered as well,” commands Cat, who seems to do the brunt of the talking between her and Hank. “However, before we get too deeply into strategy Hank and I are going to meet with the two of you individually and decide who we’d each be better to mentor. Kara?” She motions for me to follow her out of the car as Hank pulls up a chair closer to Jimmy.

  
Alex stays close to my side as we enter the next train car. “I don't like her and I don’t trust her,” Alex whispers into my ear. “Stay on your guard.” With that she falls back into a position behind me, acting as my defensive guard should anything happen. She’s always been like that, protecting me my whole life. You’d think I’d be the one protecting her, considering my alien powers and all, but no.

  
Cat is already sitting down, legs cross and back straight as a pole, by the time the door to the train cart closes behind Alex and I. “Chop, chop we have a finite number of hours left before I send you off to, what will most likely be, your death.” This woman does not pull any punches. I can’t tell if I appreciate the candidness or if it would slowly rub me the wrong way until I crack. “So, why did you volunteer in place of that little girl? She was black, where you and your sister are not, so I assume she’s not family. Why would you make a sacrifice like that for a complete stranger?” She leans in like the reporter she is, clinging to what could be the juiciest story of the year (and, in fact, it might be considering District 12 volunteers are unheard of).

  
“Well, firstly I think it’s very rude of you to make any sort of assumptions about who is and is not related to me. I’ll have you know that Alex is my sister, but we’re not related by any sort of blood. She adopted me when I was six. Although you are right I’m not related to that little girl, it’s ignorant of you to make those sort of assumptions,” I bite back angrily.

  
“Oh,” she says, with a smile almost predatory rather than apologetic like I expected. “You’ve got a little bite to you, don’t you? Interesting.” She leans back in her chair, still managing to look powerful and in charge despite a more relaxed stance. “Still, you didn’t answer my question.”

  
I take a seat down next to Alex, glancing over at her for some reassurance. Do I tell Ms. Grant why I really volunteered or do I lie? Alex doesn’t trust her and, although for some reason I find her compelling and possibly a good ally, I’m not sure I do either. Although Alex’s face gives almost nothing away, I can tell what she’s thinking: Don’t tell her a thing.

  
“Don’t look at her for your answers. Pull on your big girl pants and answer the questions for yourself. She’s not going to be in the games with you,” snaps Ms. Grant. “And don’t even think about lying to me. I’ll know.”

  
“Uh,” I say, stumbling over my words after her unexpected response. “I did it because it was the right thing to do.” There. It’s true, but just not the full truth.

  
She looks at me, horribly unamused. “So you just did this out of the goodness of your heart?” she says mockingly. “Please, nobody’s that much of a saint.” She grabs a handful of MnM’s from the cup she’s been holding since she got onto the train and pops them into her mouth. “If, in fact, you just did this because it’s wrong answer these questions: Why would you play into the system in the first place? Become their next tribute? Are there not better ways to affect change? Plus, if you’re so morally outraged by the whole idea, why didn’t you volunteer earlier? You are 17 after all. You’ve had 5 years to volunteer previously for any random stranger. So tell me, why?”

  
I’ve never been so thankful to pay such close attention to tributes in the past so that I can actually make this argument. “No other female tribute has been 12 years old before either. No 12-year-old should be sent into a killing game with 18-year-olds. They don’t stand a chance. I can’t just stand by and allow that unfair slaughter. What better way is there for me to change the system than by shocking it? If I tried to openly dissent, in your paper for instance, we both know what would happen to me,” I challenge.

  
Ms. Grant takes a second before responding. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head. “If there’s anything I’ve learned in my many years of mentoring it’s that what actually happens in the arena isn’t the most important part. What matters is sponsors. It’s getting the audience on your side. I can work with that story. You’ll come off a saint, a puppy dog even. You’ll be likable. But you still have a bit of a spark and I can see that. If you show that off as well, you won’t be just another nice girl either. I know a good story when I see one and I can sell you to the public.”

  
“Uh, thank you Ms. Grant?”

  
“I like you Kiera.”

  
“It’s Kara, ma’am.”

  
She waves her hand flippantly. “I know I have yet to meet with that… James fellow, but unless he really blows me away I’d like to be your mentor. Consider it.”

***

Lena Luthor

“I like you, Ms. Luthor,” says Maxwell, at least three drinks deep already despite only having been on this train an hour and a half.

  
“And I think you’re a despicable snake. Don’t think I haven’t heard the stories about you,” I reply snidely.

  
“And I know who you’re related to. You and I are more alike than you prefer to acknowledge,” he says, raising his glass before taking another sip.  
“I am not my brother,” I reply angrily.

  
“That’s too bad. Although I don’t really approve of what he did, I do think that our government is shite and we oughta have less government control. A shame his revolution didn’t at least destabilize it a little.”

  
“It’s a shame that I’m still talking to you,” I reply, standing up to leave the cabin and find Felicity.

  
“You might wanna come back considering I’m your mentor and all,” he calls out. God I hate this asshole, stopping in my tracks. Unfortunately, now I need him.

  
“I’d rather have Felicity,” I reply through gritted teeth, refusing to turn back to him.

  
“Wouldn’t we all?” he says, sounding haughtier more than anything. “Alas, you’re stuck with me because I think you actually stand a chance.” Well, that isn’t something I expected to hear from Maxwell Lord’s mouth anytime soon, especially considering what a legendary dick he is. “That Jax kid, he’s alright but he won’t win. You on the other hand?” Slowly, and somewhat regretfully, I turn around to hear him out. “You’re smart, you’ve got some political clout and people fear your name, you’re driven, independent, and, although you don’t like to acknowledge it, you’re ruthless. I can see it in your eyes. The two of us, we’re just some despicable snakes in the grass ready to pounce on our poor prey. Embrace it.”

  
“Fuck you,” I reply.

  
He laughs in an infuriatingly uncaring way, as though I could’ve just said I love you to him like one of his groupies. “And that, right there, is why you’ll win, little girl. Now, come sit down. Let’s talk strategy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there's no Lena/Kara yet, but the next chapter I promise there will be!


	3. The Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of the New Year, a special update finally featuring our two leading ladies in one room. Hope you guys enjoy (both this and 2017).
> 
> Also, yo, shoutout to this girl who literally just came out nonchalantly on her finsta to ring in the new year. It really has no bearing on this story - I just thought it was cool and inspiring.

The Party

**Kara POV**

 

I guess I always figured that Capitol technology would be really easy to navigate. It’s from the Capitol after all; the place is built to be as easy to understand as possible so that those who live there live in the lap of luxury. Unfortunately, I’ve found it’s not quite so simple. I got locked in the bathroom for another 5 minutes before I finally figured out how they automatic lock doors work. When I told Alex of my debacle in the bathroom, just trying to lighten the mood, she lectured me for another five about how I’m going to die in the arena if I can’t even figure out how to get out of a bathroom.

 

She’s scared and I don’t blame her.

 

We both know my escape plan of faking my death and then taking off is flimsy at best. Quite frankly, I don’t really expect it to work at all. My purpose has always been to protect Lena; I don’t expect to come out of that arena alive. I’m just not sure how to… tell Alex. She knows of course, but knowing doesn’t really bring anyone closer to acceptance.

 

She keeps fighting for me to switch mentors with James. She seems to trust Hank more, even though he didn’t say a whole let when we met up one-on-one. I like Cat Grant. I trust her to get me as far as I need to protect Lena and that’s all that really matters. Whether or not she helps me to win – the way Alex seems to think Hank will – is inconsequential.

 

As I walk through the train on my way back to Cat and Alex I notice the sound of two heartbeats behind a nearby door. I’ve been around Hank, Winn, James, and Cat long enough to be able to distinguish their heartbeats from each other. It’s clearly James and Winn behind the door.

 

I hesitate a moment, deciding whether or not to knock on the door. I hate to intrude on the times James and Winn have left together, considering how numbered it truly is, but I also haven’t had the opportunity to talk to James yet, which seems kind of ridiculous to me considering we’re about to go into a killing ring together and, right now, he’s the only person who will almost assuredly be my ally.

 

I wince at the sound of a quickening heartbreak the second the sound of my knuckles hits the doors. Winn is afraid, on edge. After a few moments I hear James’ voice call me in. James and Winn are sitting on a couch, James’ arm around him as Winn falls easily into his muscular body.

 

“Um, hi,” I say a bit awkwardly.

 

“Oh, hey Kara,” replies James.

 

“Hey,” I say with a shy smile. “I was hoping the two of us could talk, considering the circumstances and all?”

 

“Uh, yeah of course!” he replies, lifting his arm from around Winn’s shoulders. He quietly whispers for Winn to leave the two of us alone and that he loves him. I try not to listen because it’s clearly personal, but super hearing can be a bit hard to control on occasion.

 

Winn quickly leaves the room, giving James a kiss on the cheek before he does.

 

Once he leaves I meander over to the nearest chair across from James. “It seems kind of crazy that we barely know each other, but now our lives might be in each other’s hands,” I say, wondering if maybe those were the wrong words. “So I just figured maybe I’d try to get to know you and all.”

 

“Um, yeah of course,” he says. He rubs his flat palms nervously across his thighs. “Uh, what do you wanna know?”

 

“Um… I don’t really know,” I reply honestly. What are you supposed to ask somebody in this situation? Their favorite color? Do you talk about strategy? Do you try to stay away from all talk of the games? Do you talk about how difficult it’s going to be to leave your soulmate? Do you talk about how, even though you’ve accepted that you’re going to die, you’re still absolutely terrified you are to die?

 

The two of us sit in awkward, lost silence for a few moments before he finally speaks up. “So, why did you volunteer for all of this… insanity?”

 

I consider lying to him for a second, telling him the same half-baked truth I told to Ms. Grant. But what’s the point of lying to him? He’s met his soulmate. He knows what it’s like. And the two of us, we’re going to have to trust each other with our lives, a bond forged by the flame of force. In history, people won’t be able to say my name without mentioning his, or vice versa. What’s the point of keeping secrets from each other at this rate?

 

“Lena Luthor is my soulmate.” James’ eyes immediately widen in shock and disbelief. “I joined the games to protect her.”

 

For a moment, it looks like he’s going to argue. He’s going to point out all the flaws everybody – specifically Alex – has already told me: protecting her means I’m going to die, how can I want to protect someone I’ve ever met so fiercely, she’s a Luthor. But then, by some miracle, he doesn’t say any of it. “I get it.” I guess I expected the words I needed to hear to be more… monologue-esque. I’ve always found more words to be better after all, they allow for detail and clear articulation of a point. But I guess those three words are all I needed because I believe him.

 

We don’t talk for a while, just sitting in understanding silence before he speaks again. “You know I knew your cousin?”

 

“Yeah, I did,” I say, the memory of comfort and fondness running through my body.

 

“I thought he was the coolest guy on Earth,” he admits. “He moved from District to District without a problem and he was never a jerk about it, always willing to help and see the good in people. You remind me of him.”

 

“I do?” I ask, a smile erupting from my face despite my attempts to suppress it.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“He was my hero.”

 

The two of us don’t talk for a little while, but there seems to be an understanding between us. I shared with him and he shared with me. We both understand there’s no point in lying to each other at this rate.

 

“You know Winn is my soulmate?”

 

“I did,” I respond. “I can see it in the way you two interact.”

 

There’s a smile, brighter even than Earth’s red sun, plastered on his face. “He’s my whole world.” For a moment, just a moment, a pulse of jealousy runs through me. Here’s James, sitting here having experienced the greatest feeling in the world. He’s had time with his soulmate, more time than I’m likely to ever have with Lena. And all just because of luck. It doesn’t seem fair. It’s not that I want to take away the time James and Winn have had with each other, I just wish I had more time with Lena. James’ voice breaks me out of my internal fretting. “I hope you’re able to find yours too.”

 

“Thank you, James.”

 

The two of us sit there, companionably, before he speaks one last time. “I’m not sure I’m ready to leave him yet.”

***

**Lena POV**

 

The feeling of silk gliding across my legs makes me feel more insecure and out of place than confident and secure. I’ve worn it on occasion, but most of the time I’m just in cotton like everybody else. I don’t have expensive silks and heavy necklaces with real diamonds draped on me.

 

I glance down quickly at my figure, wondering what I must look like. Do I look out of place? Do my curves fill out the dress? Do I just look as stupid and uncomfortable as I feel? Or is this what people expect of me? Does it fit with their image of the Luthor from District 3?

 

I glance over to Jax, who looks completely out of place. It’s clear he’s never worn a suit before in his life. He comes from the rougher side of town. He doesn’t work on the expensive technology, that can afford a little more sometimes, he comes from the side of car mechanics and plumbers. In our last days, will the two of us be nothing more than frauds?

 

I grip his arm just a little bit tighter, looking for some level of comfort. I know he doesn’t fully trust me yet, but his words from earlier run through my head: _Lady, if we’re going to make it through this the two of us are gonna have to work together. Do I trust you? Not entirely, but I’m with you. I’ve got your back. Do you have mine?_

“Are you scared?” I whisper under my breath.

 

“Terrified,” he responds.

 

“So am I.” I take a deep breath, attempting to calm myself down before we enter the tribute dinner that always occurs the first night after all the tributes have been chosen. There are no mentors around. It’s meant to be an “authentic” meeting of tributes, allowing us to bond and ally with other people. In truth, it’s just the beginning of the blood bath.

 

Max’s words run through my head as I prepare to walk through the two giant doors: _Lena, you’re not trying to make any allies at all. That’s Jax’s job as the relative unknown. You go into that event and you play cold, badass bitch. You play off of the fear angle. People will either come to you or they’ll at least see you as a powerful enemy not to be crossed_.

 

“You got the plan?” I murmur to him.

 

Jax turns his head for the first time since we started walking down this dreadfully long, ornate hallway, and flashes me a smile. “I’ve got this. You do your part.”

 

I nod in affirmation just as the doors are opened for us by two Avoxes.

 

The room is just as I imagined. 24 chairs surround a massive table, draped with the most expensive cloths available. Each district’s themes are clearly represented somewhere around the room. The chandelier alone, golden and glittering from the ceiling, probably costs more than most people’s homes around here. Even the floor looks newly polished. The most breathtaking feature of the room, however, is the view. You can see the entirety of the capital from here. Every light from every home flickers off in the distance.

 

I guess no one could ever say that the capitol is cheap.

 

It surprises me that there appears to be no assigned seating anywhere. Normally, everything is configured just so during the games. I suppose they wanted to make it freer up here so that allies can sit with to one’s left while an enemy terrorizes from the right, if they so please.

 

Almost everybody is up and about, mingling with one another attempting to feel out who is and isn’t a good ally.  Only four people aren’t up and about: the careers. I suppose when you’re as feared as the careers you don’t go around mingling with others. You wait for them to come to you, if they come at all.

 

Max’s instructions repeat in my head again. Cold, badass bitch. Taking a deep breath, I separate myself from Jax and head over to the table. If I’m supposed to hold myself as though I’m on the same level as the careers, I ought to act like it. I tactfully take a seat at the table, directly across from the four careers.

 

There has to be at least 20 feet between us, but my message is clear: I am here. I am dangerous. Do not fuck with me. I gracefully pick up a wine glass and take a sip of the sweetest nectar I’ve tasted in my life. My eyes never stray – never even blink – from the leader’s.

 

I have issued a challenge and everybody in the room can see it.

 

The five of us remain like that for a few minutes – a stare down of power – until a hand sticks itself out into my line of sight accompanied by a mellifluous voice that demands attention, not because of its fear or intimidation but because of its pure excitement and… endearing sweetness. “Hi, I’m Kara Danvers!”

 

A jolt runs through my wrist, covered by my trademark bracelet, where the name Kara mars my skin. I know it’s not the same girl, I saw her reaping on TV and she doesn’t have the same name, but it doesn’t stop the jolt of hope from burning through me when I hear the name Kara.

 

I slowly turn, breaking eye contact with the stupid careers, only to be met with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my life. Her hair falls gently past her shoulders, looking so perfectly natural and untouched. It makes me want to run my fingers through it all the more. She has the most compelling eyes I’ve ever seen. They couldn’t be a darker, stormier color of blue, yet they seem as light and joyful as a clear, blue sky or the gentle, lapping waves. Her smile though, god it makes me feel weak just for a moment.

 

Humanity never fails to astound me. In the middle of the most terrifying event of her life, she has the biggest, goofiest smile on her face. I don’t know whether or not I find it undeniably adorable that she can face it with such beautiful innocence or if I’m just annoyed that she has the nerve to be so… not frazzled by it all.

 

It seems a cruel trick of nature to meet a girl named Kara, days before I’m essentially sentenced to death, only to be the wrong one.

 

“Lena,” I reply easily. I move to shake her hand before I remember Maxwell’s advice. I shouldn’t appear to friendly. Plus, I have no idea what her intentions are. She could just be here to berate me for being a Luthor.

 

She lets her hand drop away as a look of disappointment crosses her face. It only lasts for a split second before she smiles once again, the force of it strong enough to light up the room. “It’s really nice to meet you,” she says excitedly, energy spilling forth from her. She’s practically bouncing up and down.

 

“Likewise,” I respond cautiously.

 

“I can’t believe this is finally happening,” she squeals.

 

“What? Excited to finally meet a real-life Luthor?” I respond with an almost bored sarcasm. Of course. This explains her excitement, she’s just here to put me down. “Finally you’re able to look at me and see how much better you are than me and my delinquent family?” I stare her down with a look that could kill.

 

Those compelling, stormy blue eyes widen in shock and confusion. I guess she wasn’t expecting that I’d call her out. “No!” she says as though her honor has just been attacked. “That’s not what I meant at all! I – this is coming out all wrong.” I raise an eyebrow, partially offended and partially bemused. How will the hero of District 12 get herself out of this one? She seems to be at a loss for what to do, hands dangling uselessly by her side and mouth open as though she wants to say so much but isn’t saying a word. She pauses for a few more seconds before finally speaking again. “Hi my name is Kara Danvers and I’m sorry for coming on a little strong. I’m just very excited to meet you and I would like to be your friend.” She’s smiling like a child who just finished off their science project and is now proudly displaying it to their mother. “Oh, and, I don’t care about your last name. Obviously,” she adds on with a nervous quickness.

 

Huh.

 

Well she’s certainly intriguing… and rather adorable as well. It’s interesting that she’d outwardly address the reputation that comes with my last name. Most people try to avoid talking about it, even though it’s the biggest, unavoidable elephant in the room. Her candor… strikes me. I suck in a breath before speaking. “You’re about to go into an arena, to either kill or be killed, potentially by me, and you want to be friends?”

 

She responds only with a sheepish smile, shyly pushing her glasses higher onto the ridge of her nose. “Well, you really are some kind of a… superhero as people are calling you.” She only seems to get more uncomfortable when I call her a superhero.

 

“I wouldn’t say I’m a hero like people think. There were some selfish motives behind my volunteering,” she replies. She glances down at the seat next to me longingly, probably just looking for any sort of physical distraction. I motion with my hand, inviting her to sit down next to me. She takes the opportunity eagerly, whether to just do anything but stand there awkwardly or because she wants to sit down next to me I’m not sure, although the former seems more believable.

 

“What kind of selfishness could accompany sacrificing your life for a little girl?” I ask, genuinely intrigued by this almost-martyr-figure in front of me.

 

She looks at me for a second, a genuinely puzzled look on her face. “Do you really not know why I did it?” Hurt clearly echoes in her voice. For some strange reason, I have the overwhelming urge to take away whatever pain I’ve caused.

 

“Should I?” I keep my voice light and joking, but this somehow seems more serious. I feel like I ought to know. I want to know. But what, exactly, am I supposed to know.

 

For a moment she looks completely startled before staring down at my wrist so intensely she could practically burn through it. I know I have my bracelet on – I always do – but it still makes me feel uncomfortable, like I’m being examined under a microscope. The way she’s looking at it, it’s almost as if she could see straight through the bracelet. I self-consciously go to grip and cover up the name of my soulmate from her eyes.

 

A stunned look of understanding seems to cross her face before she mumbles, almost so quiet that I can’t hear it. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” She says it almost regretfully before looking up to meet my eyes again. For a second all air seems to leave my lungs as she looks at me with such… care, which doesn’t make a lot of sense considering she doesn’t even know me. “I, uh, I did it to protect somebody,” she says, clearing her throat. “Someone I care for.”

 

“Oh?” I ask, leaning in as if somehow getting physically closer would allow me further access to her mind. “I still fail to see how that could possibly be selfish.”

 

“Well, I could’ve volunteered for anybody at any time, but it’s only when it affected me and who I care for that I did volunteer,” she admits. “That’s a bit selfish.”

 

The fact that this girl exists astounds me. She sacrifices her life for somebody, and still manages to find some selfish end? How can somebody so pure exist? Especially in a wasteland like PanNational. “I hardly think so. I think what you did is noble,” I say resolutely. Damn Max’s strategy of being some sort of cold-hearted bitch. I like this girl. “Lord knows nobody would ever do that for me,” I reply off-handedly.

 

She stutters out a few unintelligible sounds, a fierce blush spreading over her cheeks, as she protests. “I’m sure that’s not true, Lena. I mean, I’ve only known you for a few minutes and I think you’re just wonderful. I’m sure if people just got to know you,” she said resolutely.

 

“And I think you’re too sweet for your own good.” She ducks her head a bit, allowing some of her hair to cover her face like a shield.

 

“So, um, tell me about yourself,” she says, switching topics easily.

 

“Not gonna bombard me with strategies? Ask me about the games? Sell yourself as a good ally – or, conversely, a bad enemy?” I ask curiously. The only thing that has been on my mind for months has been these games and how I am possibly going to survive them. This girl, she barely seems to care.

 

“Well, I guess that if I want to be your ally I ought to know _you_ first,” she responds.

 

I nod, dipping my head slightly to indicate that she may be right. “Well, in that case, I’m from District 3 and,” I pause for a moment trying to think of a worthwhile fact to tell this girl. Her entire life must be interesting. She was daring – or perhaps dumb enough – to volunteer for these games. A headstrong attitude is inexorable; it must’ve gotten her into a variety of exhilarating situations. The most interesting thing about me is my brother. “my brother-”

 

“I don’t want to hear about your brother.” Kara interrupts in a forward manner that seems out of place for her otherwise bumbling personality. “I want to hear about you.”

 

I try to think of something interesting to tell her, but in the end I settle for a simple truth. “I like technology more than I like people.”

 

“Why?” For the first time in a long time, somebody genuinely seems to care about the answer.

 

“I don’t know,” I reply. “I don’t mean to say I don’t like people, I do, but they’re sometimes more confusing, more exhausting. Technology is very easy to understand. It’s very straightforward. It’s a puzzle that’s never trying to trick you the way humans are.” For a moment I feel myself flush, as though I’ve showed too much of my hand too quickly to this girl.

 

I don’t even know her, but it feels so easy talking to her – even in a setting like this. I can’t tell if it’s my social deprivation from the last few months that makes me want to tell her everything about me or if it’s just her, this miracle girl standing in front of me who seems to come without pretense or lies, who is too good for this world. Too good for me.

 

“When I was younger it was difficult for me to pick up on the way that people talked and acted. It was different from what I was normally used to so I understand that.” Her answer is nothing like what I expected. “I remember,” she begins to laugh at the memory, “my sister Alex told me curiosity killed the cat and I was so confused because we didn’t own a cat. I was looking for a dead cat for the next week.” Before I can stop it, I feel laughter bubbling up from inside me. I laugh, not for a long time, but I laugh for the first time in a long time.

 

It feels nice.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much I hope you enjoyed it! Leave a comment because they make me really happy - whether it's to help make my story better or just a simple "I like it."
> 
> Special shoutout to Grumpy_TeddyBear whose comment made me laugh a little extra!


	4. Living & Dying: A Hero

Living & Dying: A Hero

 

**Kara POV**

 

"She doesn’t know.”

 

Alex sends me the look I’ve been dreading for the past 6 hours, tossing and turning in bed. “What do you mean she doesn’t know?” She looks like she’s about to murder someone, specifically Lena.

 

“I used my X-ray vision on her tattoo,” I admit. Alex looks disapprovingly at me. “It says Kara Zor-El, not Kara Danvers.” A look of confirmation crosses Alex’s face. “She has no clue that I’m her soulmate.” I’m fairly positive Alex looks just about as crestfallen as I did when I figured it out.

 

I quickly begin my fully-planned argument defending why this isn’t necessarily bad. “I know we both expected her to know who I am and everything, but this is so much better,” I can hear myself getting rapidly faster. “If she doesn’t know who I am she doesn’t have to go through the pain or worry of me potentially dying and she won’t be trying to protect me. It’ll make my job easier!”

 

Alex looks at me in the way that I hate. It’s the way she looked at me when I first arrived on Earth and Clark told me this was my home – so different, so much crueler than Krypton. A look beyond sadness. Sheer pity. “Oh Kara,” even her voice dripped with it.

 

“Alex, it’s fine. This is good,” I reply.

 

“Kara-”

 

“So, now that you know this I’m going to need your help to keep on hiding it. I don’t ever want Lena to know.”

 

“But Kara, that’s ridiculous. Isn’t it her right to know?”

 

“It – it’s not about rights,” I say. God that sounds bad out of context. She doesn’t understand. This situation though, it isn’t orthodox. It’s not about ‘rights.’ “It’s about me trying to protect Lena from anymore heartbreak.”

 

“And what exactly was your plan before? When you thought she would know the second she met you?” Alex challenges.

 

"Well, I’d proceed as planned and do everything in my power to save her life,” I admit. “However, now it’s all different. Now she doesn’t have to know and it can save her all the heartache.” I flash my winning Kara Danvers smile.

 

“And she never gets the chance to know who you really are? She gets to live her whole life thinking she’s never met her soulmate?”

 

"No, she gets to _live_ ,” I respond.

 

“AND YOU DON’T!” And then I see it. All of the rage broiling and boiling up inside of her, bubbling, threatening to overflow until it does. I see all of the anger that hurts me not so much because it’s directed at me. I can take anger. Anger motivates me. It hurts because behind it is something so incredibly _Alex_. Behind it is an expression of all the fear and the love that she has for me, about me, but never says because that’s not the way Alex is. She’s not mushy and gushy the way people say I am. She’s hardened and a bit jaded. She responds better to action than talking about feelings.

 

“This whole, God what do I even call it? This whole _suicide mission_ has been all about Lena,” Alex yells. Suddenly, my palms become sweatier. I can’t tell if she’s just exasperated or screaming at the heavens. Maybe both. They aren’t mutually exclusive after all. “You refuse to talk about what it’s going to do to you! You are probably going to die for this woman you barely even know.”

 

“She’s my soulmate, you don’t understand.” I mean for my voice to sound powerful, but it just comes out meek.

 

“Your right that I may not know who my soulmate is, but you didn’t know her until last night so don’t give me this ‘She’s my soulmate we have an unbreakable, die-for-you bond that I just can’t possibly understand’ shit,” she rants. “And now, you don’t even want to tell her it’s you? Your last days and it’s all about her.”

 

Alex slowly begins to soften, coming to sit down next to me on the couch in my room. “Kara I know you,” she says, grabbing my hand. “You’re doing all this for her without thinking about yourself and it’s beautiful and selfless and one of the reasons I love you. You put other people’s hearts above your own. But have you considered how much this is gonna break yours?”

 

And suddenly, it’s all out there. In a matter of moments. Every fear I’ve had since I first volunteered. Every emotion I’ve been pushing down. Every thought I’ve been ignoring.

 

And I can’t ignore it anymore.

 

She’s totally right too. Everything I’m doing is for Lena and that’s what I’ve been focusing on. I haven’t _really_ been paying attention to the fact that I may die. The fact that she won’t know – that I’m going to have to pretend that I’m just a friend – is going to kill me on the inside. Rao, it makes my heart hurt just thinking about it. All I’ll ever be, at best, is a friend. It’s premature to say I’m in love with her, or even like-like her, but I’ll probably never really have the chance and god that hurts.

 

When I volunteered I had this… fantasy. I thought I’d meet Lena and the two of us would just know and it would only be for a few days but we’d fall in love and I’d kiss her and I’d feel the smooth skin of her hands intertwined with mine and I’d taste that red lipstick that she always seems to be wearing and I’d spend the last few days of my life utterly fulfilled with my soulmate.

 

Now, it has been shattered.

 

And I can feel the panic start to boil over. The sudden wave of knowing, of acknowledging, exactly what’s going to happen and how much it’s going to goddamn hurt. Suddenly, every bone in my body seems to weigh just a little bit more and my tear ducts just can’t handle the weight anymore. The lights start to feel too bright, too foreign, too unlike the darkly lit rooms of District 12. A sense of panic runs through me, only quickening the downfall of my carefully placed barriers, the ones that keep my sense at a human level.

 

Within seconds the entire room becomes a hundred decibels louder. I can hear the minute movement of the couch’s fabric move against each other, the sound of Alex’s breathing, the excited screams of a woman district’s away. And it just keeps getting louder and LOUder and LOUDER.

 

Deafening.

 

I feel paralyzed. I’m afraid to move because if I move I’ll be able to hear the sound of my body brushing against the couch. I just want to cover my ears, curl up my entire body until it stops, but that would require moving which would only increase the noise.

 

So I sit there and wait until things finally begin to quiet down and the light doesn’t seem as dizzying anymore and Alex is sitting there, waiting patiently, unsure what to do but nevertheless a place of solace and comfort. A place for my crying body to land.

 

***

 

t feels strange, jumping from a sensory overload to business as usual in a matter of hours. My body still feels spent. It still doesn’t feel as light as it did… it’s starting to feel like it never will.

 

I guess this is what The Hunger Games does to a person. Chews you up and spits you out and you just have to keep going, keep fighting, take the hits as they come and get back up anyways.

 

You’d think it’d be easier for a girl who cannot physically feel the pain of being hit.

 

“Hello?” I call out, politely tapping the curtains separating the main hallway from the designer’s room.

 

“Yes?” a feminine voice calls out. Taking that as my cue to enter, I gently part the curtains and step into the most overwhelming room I’ve ever been in, which says a lot considering how overwhelming almost every room in the Capitol is compared to District 12. Every inch of all four walls has a holographic screen projected on it. One wall has a series of 9 screens, each seeming to report on the latest fashions, two others have a pictures of a variety of hairdos and clothes to choose from, and the last one looks like a series of finished/in-the-works outfits by the designer. The floor is pristine, but every other surface is littered with haphazard materials. Right in the center of the room is a singular desk, the only completely clear surface, with a calm looking woman at the center of the storm.

 

“Oh, hi Kara,” she says with a brilliant smile. She makes a move to get up from her desk and greet me.

 

“Hey, uh, I mean, hello,” I say awkwardly. I’m never quite sure what to say around these people. They all just seem so quick and advanced and fancy. I feel like I have to be so formal and perfect around them, but I’m not really sure how.

 

"I’m M’gann. I’m your stylist,” she says, offering a hand to shake. Her skin feels soft when I touch it, softer than anything even in District 12. For a second, I feel a surge of spite run through me. There was nothing like this in District 12. Nothing as soft or as smooth. Our bodies didn’t get the same treatment and care as people who live in the Capitol. It makes me angry goddamn it. Less for myself, who had alien genes and the ability to heal and stay healthy, but more for people like Alex and Lucy and Mike and the little girl whose place I took who’ll probably never even feel this at all, much less on her own skin.

 

I take a deep breath as I let go of her hand. I have to separate the person from the evil. She isn’t the Capitol. Whoever this woman is, M’gann, is here to help me. Just because she benefits off of the institution doesn’t make her the institution. More than anything, she’s probably just ignorant that there’s a problem at all.

 

“It’s nice to meet you,” I reply automatically.

 

“And it’s an honor to meet you,” she replies with sincerity. “I saw what you did for that little girl. I thought it was heroic, as did the whole of PanNational.” Channeling my inner hero, I respond with a strong and confident thank you. She nods before going to sit back down at her desk.

 

“My little sister was chosen for the games,” continues M’gann as I take a seat. “She died in minutes.” Her voice doesn’t sound as I expected. It lacks any bitterness or resentment. It’s calm, remorseful, maybe even forgiving. “Seeing you save another little girl like that, it reminded me of my own sister.” She smiles at me again. “I wanted to thank you for giving me a little more hope that day.”

 

I never considered the sort of consequences and ramifications my action had. The little girl was an afterthought in comparison to protecting Lena. Now, I’m a symbol for hope.

 

“Uh, th- thank you,” I reply unsurely. “You’re not from the Capitol?”

 

“No, I’m from District 4,” she says.

 

She pauses for a second, letting the moment last just a little bit longer before diving in. “Alright,” she says. Her entire tone of voice changes from reverence to authoritative resilience. “Now that the thank you’s are over I can get to my job. As your designer for tonight it is my job to dress to give you the best odds and the best way to have the best odds is to make a lasting impression.”

 

I nod.

 

“Most designers just have their outfits represent their tributes’ district. I don’t want to do that. That’s boring. It’s child’s play. What I was thinking was this: the whole nation has been calling you a superhero. Why not play it up?” There’s a mischievous glint in her eye. It reminds me of the one Lucy always had moments before she would announce some horribly brilliant plan of childhood nefariousness. I find it comforting.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

I mean let’s dress you up as a bona fide superhero,” she says with a shit-eating grin.

 

***

 

“You look absolutely ridiculous,” says Ms. Grant. “This simply cannot stand.” I glance down self-consciously running my hands down my outfit. I thought it was cute. The skirt feels a bit cute and the color scheme, although nice, is a bit random, but I still like it.

 

“And what, exactly, is wrong with it, Cat?” M’gann sounds like Cat had just attacked her child. I guess, in a way, she had.

 

“She’s just in some skintight blue and red suit,” snips Cat. “We need to make her standout. There should be something actually on her chest, some sort of a symbol,” Cat muses. I can see the cogs in her head working a mile a minute.

 

“What? Like put a 12 on there?” M’gann responds stubbornly.

 

“Of course not,” Cat replies with a wave of her hand, as if she could physically wave off the idea itself. “If you’re going to forego this idea of Districts entirely you might as well actually stick to forgoing it _entirely._ ” She turns around for the sole purpose of glaring at M’gann for a few seconds before turning back to pace. “You need to give her a name. We need to brand her.”

 

She immediately begins stalking over to a table with some leftover newspapers as if they have the key to the universe. After a minute or two of searching and scanning she finally speaks again. “Aha, here it is!” She has this triumphant look of victory in her eye. “Supergirl.”

 

“What?” Both M’gann and I ask.

 

“Supergirl,” she restates. “I want you to put a goddamn, giant S on her chest and call her Supergirl because that’s exactly what she is and that’s what people will perceive her as. I admit, I didn’t officially come up with it. Some troll from District 5 did. Nonetheless, I am the one doing the public branding so you’re now, Supergirl.” She looks over at M’gann irritably. “Chop chop!”

 

***

 

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for each and every review they all mean a lot to me! Special shoutout toMewolynn8082, thanks for being so understanding and supportive and BlueSkyHawk whose comment just made me smile for like a minute straight, I like to think this post goes out to you because you said you were a bit impatient for an update.
> 
> Thanks again for the reviews they keep me going! I hope you enjoyed! And stay tuned cause the next chapter is gonna get a little heavy (you thought I couldn't go heavier than sensory overload, well, you thought wrong lol!)


	5. Training Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School is back in session, so updates will be less frequent but I will be doing everything in my power to update, at minimum, weekly.
> 
> Thanks especially to The_Camel_Queen, touzen, and Supercorp Trash from Mexico for brightening up my day!

Training Day

 

**Lena POV**

 

“Well the two of them are superheroes in their own right and, rather than sticking to the boring sort of standards expected of us, we wanted to really stand out and emphasize what amazing tributes we have this year,” defends Cat on the morning talk shows.

 

“And what does the S stand for?” asks a curious Lois Lane.

 

“Supergirl, because that’s what she is,” replies Cat. “We were debating what we could possibly call a girl like Kara, but there’s no one word that could fully describe her – generous, brave,” Cat begins to list. Kind. The whole night we talked and she just listened to me without pretense or judgment. Beautiful. Not in an aesthetic way, although she certainly is, but her soul just seemed beautiful. I practically scoff at my own incessant cheesiness over this girl. “So I chose super.”

 

I guess I can’t be cheesier than Cat Grant’s ‘so I chose super.’

 

“And what about Mr. Olson? I didn't’ quite get that costume either,” inquires Lois.

 

“Well, his was a bit more obscure,” Cat comments. “He was dressed as a guardian because he’s a protector. His boyfriend, Winn, was apparently getting beaten up by some deplorable bullies and our very own James Olson ran in to protect him. The designer, M’gann, wanted to emphasize his own brand of heroism.” Cat certainly has the perfect answer for everything.

 

“Cat Grant, Queen of District 12 Media,” drawls Max disdainfully. I quickly whip my head around to see the devil in my doorway. “She always did know how to make a good story.”

 

He ducks his head a bit as he meanders into my room, uninvited I may add. “Come up with any allies you might like to have?” he asks. I lift my hand up to the full-wall screen projecting a picture of Kara Danvers and Jimmy Olson, standing triumphantly next to each other in their carriage from last night’s tribute parade.

 

Maxim’s reaction is less than inspiring as he bursts out into a fit of mocking laughter. “You want the two little heroes as your allies?”

 

“More specifically I like the girl, Kara,” I respond seriously. God that man could make any girl scowl. It’s a wonder Felicity’s put up with him for so long.

 

In between deep, laughing breaths, he manages to get out a single sentence. “PanNational’s greatest villain wants to team up with their new golden girl? That’s rich.”

 

I close my eyes, just for a second, to collect myself. He’s just an asshole. His words mean nothing. He’s a snake in the grass.

 

Just like you…

 

For a few moments, the image of Kara runs through my head. I propose an alliance with her and she does exactly what Max does. She laughs right in my face. A Luthor and a Super.

 

Quickly regaining my bearings, knowing that Maxwell would take any sign of weakness as an opportunity just to tear me down, I quickly respond. “Yes, now are you going to help me make it happen or not?” I stare him down with a withering glare that seems to have absolutely no effect on him whatsoever.

 

Eventually he settles enough to grab a glass of alcohol from the nearby cart (I suppose the drinking age doesn’t matter to the capitol anymore once you’re sentenced to death) and offer me some real advice. “After the stunts that girl has been pulling everybody in that arena is going to want to be her ally or her enemy. You realize every enemy she’s made will be yours as well.”

 

I nod.

 

He sighs. “You couldn’t choose somebody quieter?”

 

I grin. “Wouldn’t want to make your job too easy.”

 

“And how do you plan to get her as an ally in the first place?”

 

“Well, she and I connected at the dinner the other night so I was thinki-”

 

“Connecting or was she just scoping out the competition?” interjects Max.

 

A feeling that has been niggling me for months finally reveals itself in all its glory: fury. It lasts only for a split second, but I recognize it well after all of Lex’s trials. I can’t possibly explain why I’d have such a strong reaction to a relative stranger but even the idea that Max would question her motives, that he would try to undermine the kind of wonderful person she is, makes me want to punch him in the face.

 

“Shut up,” I seethe. And for a moment, just a moment, a look of genuine respect crosses Max’s face. I’d almost argue he looks speechless. But, in typical Max fashion, he rebounds and goes back to that stupid smirk.

 

“Alright, princess. Getting a little defensive.”

 

***

 

I thought I’d seen it all. I’ve watched my fair share of Hungers Games – we all have. It’s almost impossible to avoid them. I’ve been raised on people killing each other for entertainment. My youngest memory is watching some poor tribute’s blood splattered across the camera after getting her head smashed into a rock.

 

And then Lex came. And I saw every gruesome piece of footage imaginable of his attempted takeover. I saw the people he had killed in cold blood, people I had met and thought were his friends.

 

I’d faced every backstabbing girl in my grade, every whispering boy, every horrible shove into the nearest hard surface of people looking to hurt me, to feel better about themselves after seeing the kind of ‘trash’ I was adopted into.

 

The training area isn’t inherently scary. It’s completely pristine, nobody can actually get hurt in it. One might even call it a pleasant place just to train.

 

What’s scary is its implication. Its implication terrifies the shit out of me. This is the place where I’m going to learn how to survive because my survival won’t be guaranteed in the coming days. What I learn here literally defines my life and death. This is the place that might teach me how to kill somebody. That is scarier than anything else.

 

Taking a deep breath, I regain my bearings and put on my poker face. Don’t ever let them see you sweat, then they know you’re a target. I make my way over to a station teaching how to either make a shelter or find it. Not meaning to, I quickly scan the room looking for Kara.

 

She’s standing next to a holographic body dummy, clearly trying to staunch the bleeding of a wound with a holographic leaf. She appears to be failing miserably as more and more holographic blood drips onto the floor to indicate her level of progress, or lack thereof. I could almost laugh at the sight if it didn’t have serious consequences.

 

I run a hand against my soulmate tattoo, feeling as though I’m somehow betraying the Kara whose name is on my wrist by even befriending this one.

 

Focusing back on the task at hand, several minutes and a few tutorials later on how to find shelter in a jungle setting pass before I feel somebody else come up to the station.

 

“Hi Lena,” Kara says with that same adorable excitement that seems to defy sadness or fear.

 

“Hey,” I reply, still vaguely paying attention to the automated tutorial on how to not die in the wilderness. “Not at one of the fighting stations?”

 

“No, I don’t really have any use for them,” she says confidently.

 

“Really? Why? Most people seem to gravitate towards them.” Of the 24 tributes at least 16 of them are learning how to fight right now.

 

She stutters for a second, pushing her glasses up the ridge of her nose. It’s a nervous habit she seems to have. “Well, I uh, I’m pretty uh, physically fit as I am and I also don’t believe in killing.”

 

“You don’t believe in killing?” I suppose to many it would mostly just seem foolish to go into the games intent on not killing, but for some reason I just find it… noble and endearing. There’s so much hatred and pain in this world. It’s unavoidable. It must have touched this girl. Yet, she acts as though it doesn’t; as though hope and ideals aren’t lost in the ravages of this world.

 

It’s too bad that she isn’t my soulmate, in some ways. Not that I love her or that I’m even particularly interested in dating her, I barely know her after all. But I could see myself falling in love with a girl like her, even though she’s far too good for me.

 

“We’re about to go into an arena intent on making people killers and you don’t believe in killing?”

 

“I don’t,” she replies. “I remember reading this old article once. My cousin, Clark, showed it to me.” A note of sadness enters her voice at the name Clark. “It talked about this place that existed once, before PanNational, called America.”

 

My eyes widen. Something before PanNational? The government barely keeps records of stuff like that. They’re probably too afraid it would incite a rebellion. My eyes dart around the room, looking to see if anybody is eavesdropping. Mentioning something like that in the heart of the government is unexplainably dangerous.

 

Despite all the risks, I hope to God she keeps talking. I want to know everything about it.

 

“It talked about the foundations of America, what it was built on. It talked about truth and justice. The American way. It was wonderful,” she says with a dreamy look in her eye. “My cousin said that it is our responsibility to preserve those values, even when it’s difficult and it seems like nobody else cares about them. So no, I don’t believe in killing.” In that moment, she really does sound like a superhero.

 

“That’s admirable, Kara. Unfortunately,” I say with pursed lips, “it’s an ideal I can’t abide by as well.”

 

I can practically see the switch in her brain flip. In the short time I’ve known Kara Danvers, or at least of her, I can enumerate a rather long list of things she’s good at. Apparently, hiding her emotions isn’t one of them. Her face drops from proud to disappointed instantaneously.

 

“I mean… you could,” she suggests. I can see her disillusionment with me break. This whole time she’s been treating me like a normal human being. It’s been… amazing and so damn long since I haven’t been a Luthor first and Lena second. Now she’s looking at me the way people looked at me in that deposition room. Guilty.

 

“How do you suggest I live when everybody else is out trying to kill me in a couple days? Kill them with kindness?” I challenge. I can hear my voice raising and maybe it’s unfair to her but that’s just ridiculous. Although I admire her own conviction and the fact that she won’t let anything, even the Capitol’s killing games, stop her from following her beliefs, I just can’t be the same way. I want to live and I’ll do what I have to in order to get out of there alive.

 

Maybe it makes me just as ruthless as Maxwell says.

 

“I’m not saying you don’t fight,” Kara argues. “I’m just saying you don’t have to kill them.”

 

“Why? So they can recover and come back to kill me? It’s kill or be killed in there, Kara, and I for one don’t want to be killed.”

 

“There are other ways-” she argues. I can tell that this argument isn’t going to get us anywhere. We’re both too set in our beliefs and our beliefs are too opinion based to really be disputed by facts. But God, I can’t stop myself.

 

I want her to understand my position. I don’t want her to keep looking at me like everybody else does. I… I care about what she thinks of me, and I don’t want her to just think of me as some cold-blooded murderer. It’s not exactly my choice if I go into that arena and I’m forced to kill somebody.

 

“You do realize what you’re saying? They don't let anyone out until 23 other people are dead. If you don’t kill them someone else will. How is leaving them to the wolves any different than killing them yourself?”

 

“And we shouldn’t add to actively extinguishing other people’s lives! Since when did taking somebody’s life become an actual moral debate?” The two of us are yelling at this point and garnering far too much attention.

 

She’s absolutely infuriating and it does cross my mind how attractive she is when she’s passionate about something.

 

I push the thought aside just as quickly. I have bigger worries than an attractive girl. She finally notices the attention the two of us have attracted and she takes a conceding step back. “I uh, think I’m gonna go help James identify edible foods,” she says awkwardly backing away.

 

Fuck.

 

***

 

**Kara POV**

 

How can my soulmate possibly believe there is a time when killing is just? I’m not stupid or naïve. I know what happens in that arena. I’ve watched people die in those games like everybody else. But just because people may be slated to die doesn’t mean that you have to actively participate in anybody’s death. By that logic, we’re all destined to die which makes any sanctity of life a moot point.

 

If I don’t do everything in my power to prevent someone’s death, then what am I doing here trying to protect Lena? I refuse to believe that volunteering to save her life is futile.

 

God I wish I could just punch something. I glance over longingly at the more physical, aggressive training system, but I know if I even punched it at 1/16 of my actual strength it’d be above human levels so attempting would be pointless and do nothing to help with my anger anyways.

 

I just need to take a deep breath, cool down, and focus on something else. “Hey James,” I say with a much more even voice than I was using only a minute ago with Lena.

 

“Hey Kara.” He doesn’t hesitate for a moment, continuing to perfectly pick out the edible plants from the nonedible and identify them with speed and accuracy.

 

I stand there, just watching in awe for a little while longer. When I tried doing that earlier I was maybe a quarter of the speed and getting everything wrong anyways. James seems to do it so effortlessly. “When I was doing that earlier everything just looked the same. How are you doing that?”

 

James laughs, not to make fun of me but in an easygoing sort of way that just makes me feel comfortable around him. “I’ve just got a really good eye for detail I guess.” He goes to pause what he’s doing and exits back to the guidebook that simply shows all the labelled plants. “Okay, so like, right there. The anthropagis looks a lot like the peromycardanis.” I get a little closer and push my glasses up out of habit, trying to find any differences. To me, they could be the exact same plant which is only slightly worrying considering the anthropagis is poisonous and the peromycardanis is a helpful organic medicine for burns.

 

“They just look the same to me.”

 

“Right, but at the stem right there is some slight discoloration and the leaves are more defined, almost looking like pricks whereas the leaves of the peromycardanis are rounder and its stem has a tendency to be a brighter green.”

 

“Golly, you’re right!” I look over at him with respect and I notice how attractive he is. I mean, I noticed he was attractive when I first saw him but I wasn’t attracted to him until now when he’s right in his element and he has a wide, stress-free smile on his face.

 

Is this what he must’ve looked like when he was with Winn before the games? Is this what everybody on Earth would’ve looked like if we lived on Krypton and not in this… dictatorial, cruel society?

 

James continues to show me a few more minute differences between other plants before he suddenly changes the subject. “I know this isn’t really any of my business, but considering I’m liable to die in a couple days-”

 

“Don’t say that!”

  
“-there’s really no point in holding my tongue when I have something to say.” James pauses for a second. “I’m going to kill people in that arena if I have to. I’m not going to indiscriminately kill everybody. I won’t kill you, or Lena, and I’m thinking the guy from District 9 might be a good ally so maybe not him. But otherwise, I’m going to do whatever it takes to get back to Winn and although I regret that fact, I’m not ashamed of it. I just wanted you to know that.”

 

“James I – I can’t support that.”

 

“I know.” We stay like that for just a little while longer before his demeanor changes and he perks back up and begins talking about the differences between a berhy and a berhi.

 

***

 

“What do you mean you won’t kill anybody?” Ms. Grant asks, eyes so narrowed I could almost believe they were closed.

 

“It came up today and I thought I ought to inform you that I will not kill anybody in that arena,” I reply confidently.

 

“Of course I had to choose to mentor the motherfucking hero.” She collapses into a chair across from me, M&M’s perilously close to spilling over the edge of the cup in her hand.

 

“And who exactly did this come up with?” she asks. Her voice is a terrifying combo of clear anger but an absolutely calm tone.

 

“Uh, James and Lena Luthor.” Ms. Grant sucks in a deep breath before lifting the entire cup of M&M’s to her mouth and letting them all slide into her mouth as though she’s taking a shot.

 

“You’re fucked,” she comments as an Avox goes to grab her a refill of M&M’s. “Well, I mean, you were already fucked before when you decided to go into a _murdering competition_ intent on keeping that heroic purity of yours alive but now you’re _utterly_ fucked because Lena Luthor and Maxwell Lord will absolutely leak this to the press and once they do absolutely no sponsors will be interested in you because they’ll see you’re a dead woman walking.”

 

It sounds so strange to hear somebody talking about my future death with such nonchalance. Every other time people talk about it there’s always a seriousness, a weight, to it. People say it with pity and sadness.

 

Nonchalance is much scarier.

 

“Lena isn’t like that,” I reply in a quieter, distracted voice.

 

“She may not, but Maxwell certainly is!” An Avox hands her a newly refilled cup of M&M’s which she takes with a grateful sigh. “How, exactly, are you planning on winning these games without killing?”

 

I don’t bother to tell her I have no plans of surviving. “People have done it in the past-”

 

“Rarely,” she interrupts with a withering look.

 

“And you don’t have to kill somebody to win a fight,” I argue.

 

“No, but 23 people do need to be dead to make it out alive,” Cat retorts. She lets out another exasperated sigh. “Why exactly are you so adamant to killing, Kara?” Her tone is… new. It sounds tired – exhausted – and strangely genuine, like she actually cares what my answer is.

 

“Because it’s not right. Murder isn’t acceptable under any circumstances. I refuse to attempt to justify it or be intimidated into doing it. It doesn't matter that I’m about to go into a ‘murder competition.’ I won’t just go against everything I believe just to survive. If I do, then it wouldn’t really be me who comes out of that arena.”

 

Cat doesn’t respond for a moment, genuinely absorbing my words. “So I suppose when I was 16 and getting attacked in the arena and that girl from District 5 – I still remember her name. Leslie Willis,” she sounds almost bemused when she says it, but if you listen close enough you can hear that inkling of pain she tries never to show. “And she had a knife to my throat, so close to killing me that I could feel the trickle of blood run down my neck, that I shouldn’t have killed her afterwards? Those circumstances didn’t call for it?”

 

She looks at me with a humorous look completely devoid of humor, challenging me to say no.

 

“I.” I don’t know. I mean, her life was in danger. Someone was trying to kill her. Is it fair for her to kill her in return? If it is, then can murder be justified? And if murder can be justified even once, where do we draw the line?

 

No. No. There had to have been some better way. “Ms. Grant-”

 

“Call me Cat. If we’re going to have this debate you’re going to call me Cat.” I’m not sure if she says that because this is getting deeply personal or if it’s to intimidate me, to remind me that I am speaking of her experiences and not generalizations. I think it’s a mix of both.

 

“Cat,” I begin again. “I’m just saying there was a better way.”

 

“Oh? And what would that be?”

 

“I’m not saying you don’t fight for your life. I’m just saying you didn’t have to kill her in return,” I reply.

 

“Why? So she can recover and come after me again? I know that everyone has been calling you a superhero lately, but do not mistake a world of fantasy with our own. Superheroes have the privilege of not having to kill. They can keep fighting the same villains over and over again, mostly because villains become too beloved by the people and the writers are too lazy to come up with new ones,” she adds. “But we don’t live in a world of heroes. If Leslie Willis had come after me again I probably would’ve died. Although I like to think some amount of skill and cleverness went into my killing her, most of it was luck. I wouldn’t have gotten so lucky again.”

 

She looks so… vulnerable in that moment. I feel as though I’m witnessing something I shouldn’t, something I haven’t yet earned. But what’s most awful about the situation is that I can see how rehearsed it is. Not in the sense of practiced, but in the sense of repetitive. It’s clear how many times she’s replayed this killing in her head. It’s clear how much she’s dwelled on it and her potential death and I find that utterly terrifying because I know exactly how that feels.

 

It’s how I feel every day about Krypton. There isn’t a day that passes where I don’t think about my home world. I know that, logically, it wasn’t my fault it exploded and that I was only eleven, I couldn’t have done anything. Yet, possibilities still sprout in my head. Potential outcomes. If I had only pushed my parents to do more. If I had stayed on the planet with them. What could be different?

 

I’m far more terrified of killing somebody than I am of death because I can’t imagine feeling that feeling ten-fold and _knowing_ it was entirely my doing.

 

“Do you think I’m some sort of monster, Kara?” I immediately jump back into the conversation from my own thoughts.

 

“Of course not,” I practically use my super speed just to object quickly enough.

 

“Well, you’re clearly against killing and you’ve seen my games, seen the people I had to kill to win them.” I can tell that it hurts her to talk about this. The great Cat Grant. A legend to the world as being an arrogant, remorseless bitch. And here she is: hurting. “You know I didn’t want to kill anybody?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Well then, you know that in that arena killing isn’t always a choice. You act like it’s a choice that the capitol intimidated you into. From a certain point of view, I truly understand that, but once you actually experience it you realize exactly how powerless you are in that situation. There is never any choice in that arena, Kara.”

 

She takes a deep breath and the glassy look in her eyes, the one that makes her look a thousand miles away, disappears, replaced by the Cat Grant I recognize. “You’re entirely too naïve and entirely too pure. And maybe you’re right that I didn’t come out the same, but you can’t really understand the weight of having someone’s life in your hands and then… extinguishing it, until you’ve truly done it.” The soft tone in her voice changes back to her hard, mentoring tone that I’m used to. “Until you do, perhaps you should update your antiquated, clean-cut understanding of life and death. We live in a world of nuance and grey after all.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this chapter. I love that this debate reminds me of Kara's change of heart on Lena's alien technology. It was definitely really hard and emotional to write this chapter. I hope you love it! Kudos and Comment to make my heart grow three times as large.
> 
> A cute, real life love story: my best friend has been with her boyfriend for three years. She first realized she liked him when she was complaining about uncomfortable shoes and he said: that's stupid. Get practical shoes. She realized that she cared about his opinion and that's how she realized she liked him. Why do I mention this? A certain somebody was very concerned about Kara's opinion of her...


	6. The Balcony

The Balcony

 

**Kara POV**

So what’s it like,” Alex asks, “meeting your soulmate?” She leans in with a conspiratorial look that reminds of our days with Lucy, sending Mon-El away under the guise of ‘girl talk’ when it really just meant talking about the attractive people in the District we’d certainly like to kiss before meeting our soulmates.

 

Trying to describe a moment like meeting your soulmate is sort of impossible. There are no words to capture every spectrum of human emotion and all its reactions happening at once. It’s like trying to describe a religious figure. You can describe aspects to perfection but the amount of possibilities are so infinite it’s not truly possible.

 

“Well, first off you have to throw away any ideas you’ve had in your head because it’s nothing like that,” I begin. “It’s not some big, romantic scene where you look into somebody’s eyes and you think to yourself that’s my soulmate.”

 

“Did you know?” prompts Alex. “When you saw her did you know?”

 

“Yea, but not in the sense of looking at her and saying to myself ‘that’s her. That’s Lena Luthor,’ even though I did actually know that. Seeing her was more like,” I search for a word in English that properly captures the feeling, but there isn't one. “There’s a word in Kryptonese, parashone, and that’s the closest I can come.”

 

“Whatsit mean?” Alex looks like a five-year-old being told a bedtime story that’s been left at a cliffhanger, all eager eyes and impatience

 

“There’s no direct translation, but I suppose it’s a lot like the word trust, except there’s an emphasis on the natural comfort felt in it. Like, people often say trust must be earned. Parashone is a natural connection, a natural comfort and ease. There is no earning. It’s… looking across a room and knowing they are a friend.”

 

“So you weren’t just like, ‘shit, she’s attractive?’” Alex asks, taking a swig of beer (an alcohol Ms. Grant has purposely separated from the ‘good ones’ AKA the expensive ones).

 

I giggle because, of course, that totally ran through my head. The moment I saw her I thought she must be the most beautiful woman alive. “I mean, of course,” I say with a blush. “It’s just that… that feeling pales in comparison.” I can feel myself becoming giddier, just thinking about Lena and how amazing she is.

 

“You weren’t just like; man I'd like to take her to-”

 

Suddenly, I can hear it. It’s faint, but growing stronger as she comes closer. Lena’s heartbeat. It’s a couple floors down, but I recognize it. Using my X-Ray vision, I scan the levels and see she’s just on one of the bottom floors for all contestants, just standing out the balcony.

 

“Alex, I love you. You know that, but Lena’s downstairs and I’ve been meaning to talk to her so I’m gonna quick run down there, but I’ll be back!” And just like that, I’m racing out the door to the elevator, only going slightly faster than human speed (which, of course, makes the elevator ride painfully slow because even though the capitol can fix life-threatening diseases they still haven’t made the elevator faster).

 

By the time I reach the proper floor I feel like I could explode from all the built of excitement and anxiety right now. I rush through the other rooms – a sitting room, a dining room, a library – until I finally reach the open double doors to the balcony.

 

She looks so peaceful. I can see it in the minute movements of her muscles. There’s no tightness in her back or tenseness in her shoulders. She looks calm. I almost don’t want to interrupt, but the pent up excitement is too strong and I end up doing it anyways.

 

“Hi Lena!”

 

And then she turns around in all of her breathtaking glory. With that adorable smile and those cheekbones that could cut glass and those gorgeous green eyes that have seen too much but refuse to look despondent.

 

“Hey Kara,” she says with a reserved smile. I can see it in her face, in the way that her smile isn’t full and her eyes look unsure. After today’s talk, she doesn’t know what to think of me or how to act.

 

“I’m glad I actually ran into you out here,” I offer. “I was hoping we could pick up the conversation we were having before.” Any happiness on her face drops instantaneously. “But, not precisely from the same place!” I rush out.

 

Confusion clouds over her corneas.

 

“I still don’t believe in killing anybody and I still have no plans to kill anybody in the games.” She looks… disappointed by my words. “But.” And suddenly, her eyes light up. She looks curious and surprised and she leans in ever so slightly. There’s this seductive, dangerous look in her eyes that I can’t quite explain but I know it’s harmless… also extremely attractive. “I was talking to Ms. Grant and Jimmy and I realized that there is more to the world than just black and white, truth and justice, and I have to acknowledge those nuances or I’m just as blind as somebody who does commit a wrongful murder.”

 

She’s beaming. “And what did they say? I have to know!” she says it in such a… delicious way. That’s the best word I can come up with. It’s like I have offered her the greatest fruit in the world and she can’t get enough. Plus, she also looks absolutely delicious when she says it.

 

“Killing isn’t always a choice. Even when we think it is ours, it’s not as clear cut as that. And that doesn’t make it right, but it makes it just.”

 

“That… doesn’t make a lot of sense,” Lena says carefully.

 

“I just mean… Ms. Grant didn’t have a choice when she killed in her games and she had to protect herself. It doesn’t make the killing right, but it makes it understandable, defendable. Jimmy, he told me that he’d kill to get back to his soulmate and I really don’t think there’s much choice in that either. Your soulmate is, well, they’re your soulmate. I can understand that sentiment.”

 

She looks at me for a long time. Not with any judgment or any real emotion, she just looks like a detective looking at a crime scene and searching for clues. It causes me to feel a strange mix of self-consciousness and goddess-like status to have her stare at me like that.

 

“You sound as though you’ve met your soulmate.”

 

Suddenly, I feel how I imagine my mother felt when she was faced with the decision of what to do with the information that Krypton was dying. Do I tell the people who matter or not?

 

Before I really even know I’m talking, I say it. “I have.”

 

“It must be something, meeting your soulmate,” she says with this far-off dreamy look that makes me feel jealous of nothing. I suppose fantastical stories of romance set the bar too high. Why would she be looking at me when she said it? I shouldn’t expect that from her.

 

Yet, I’m still disappointed when she doesn’t.

 

“It really is,” I say, looking directly at her and abiding by those same, cheesy romantic stories Lucy would tell me at sleepovers for a bedtime story.

 

“Why would you leave them?” she asks, turning to (finally) look at me.

 

“I-I didn’t,” I stutter.

 

“I mean, you volunteered for the games, why would you voluntarily leave them after finding them?” she asks.

 

How do I tell her? What do I tell her? If I tell her that I didn’t, that brings up so many questions and it’s too obvious, but I also can’t seem to get myself to lie to her. I know she doesn’t know it’s her, but I can’t bear the thought of her thinking I just left my soulmate, left her, even if she doesn’t know I’m talking about her.

 

“From my perspective, I didn’t leave her,” I reply. She raises an eyebrow when I tell her it’s a her, a twinkle of curiosity and hop glitters in her eye even if it’s only for a few moments. “I only got closer to coming here by coming here.”

 

Lena looks on curiously, but doesn’t ask any more questions and for that I’m thankful. Finally, she just thanks me for telling her all that.

 

The two of us just stand there in companionable silence, taking in the weight of the conversation for several moments. The silence never feels odd or like it needs to be filled. If anything, it’s better that we don’t talk. Thinking about death, about soulmates, about the pain of leaving is somehow so much easier just being in her presence. It makes me feel like it’ll all be alright even if it’s not.

 

Eventually, she breaks the silence. It feels like a loss – the beautiful, understanding silence between us now broken – only to be replaced by the sound of her voice that fills the space of loss tenfold. “Tell me more about the times before these games.” Although she doesn’t whisper, there’s a weakness and an insecurity in her voice akin to it. She sounds like an alcoholic, finally succumbing to their beautiful, sweet addiction and knowing this moment is their downfall but holding the bottle up to their lips anyways.

 

Surprised but not startled, I try to recall anything I knew.

 

It’s almost impossible to get any information on the world before PanNational. I think it’s because they know the times before it was better and they’re afraid that letting people know what they’re missing out on will incite a rebellion. But what do I know? I barely know anything about America. My information comes from a singular article on truth and justice, an old book of the before-times, and a comic book.

 

“There was a network, apparently. Something without wires. All technology. Anybody could access it and it had every piece of information in the world on it. Everybody connected all at once,” I say. It’s hard to fathom something like that. It’s even harder to deal with the loss, knowing we once had all knowledge at our fingertips only to lose it.

 

“Can you imagine that?” Lena says in disbelief. “Something so free?”

 

I think back to Krypton and Rao can I imagine that freedom. There were no districts or games. People weren’t denied medical care because they didn’t have the money or live in a wealthy enough district. There weren’t peacekeepers watching your every move. We may not have had the ‘internet’ but we had freedom.

 

Right up until the day my planet exploded.

 

And the loss of my planet, my home, an entire culture hits me again. But it feels different this time. With Lena here, it’s no less painful, but it feels like she may bear the pain with me, even if she doesn’t know it. Just having her here makes it easier.

 

And suddenly I’m talking. “There was a comic book. It was fictional, nothing about the before-times, but it talked about this planet off in the galaxy called Krypton.”

 

“A planet?” she asks. And then I remember that PanNational doesn’t really talk about space or planets. She probably has no idea what I’m talking about.

 

“Nothing, it doesn’t really matter,” I immediately backtrack. “Like I said, it’s not about the before-times.”

 

“No,” she interrupts. “I want to know,” she says sincerely. She leans her arms against the balcony, hunching her back, and turns her head to look over at me, her eyes thirsty for knowledge.

 

“A planet is… like another world different and far from ours somewhere in space.”

 

“God that sounds amazing,” she says in breathless wonder.

 

And I tell her. I tell her everything about Krypton and she listens intently, hanging onto every word.

 

I tell her about the perpetually orange sky and the awe-inspiring mountains and the tall buildings and the fast-track roads not unlike the ones in the Capitol. I tell her about the beautiful dresses we would wear and the meanings behind the color – the respect that would accompany them. I tell her about the coming of age ceremonies and the wonderful music (which she questioned until I lied and told her I’d come up with the melodies in my head) and the strong bond among family and the honor among strangers that doesn’t seem to exist much here on Earth.

 

I tell her everything and it feels so freeing to be able to talk to openly about my home, to talk about a culture long-forgotten by everyone but me. I’ve told Alex about it, sometimes, but it was always difficult. Telling her about it always felt like a betrayal to Earth. It felt like I was ungrateful. And she never really quite understood. She’d nod her head and say it sounded pretty, but she’d grown up in a world of dusty grey and sadness. It’s impossible to truly articulate something somebody has never experienced. The comparison is untranslatable.

 

But Lena. She comes from a different life, one of technology and perhaps a bit more beauty than District 12 sees. I can see the images flashing in her mind’s eye. I can tell she understands and she cares.

 

It feels… liberating to tell somebody. To know that I’m not the only one who knows of Krypton’s existence. When I die, somebody will still know about Krypton, even if they just think it’s a fairytale, just a story in a comic book.

 

“That other world, it felt like a home away from home for me,” I say. “I know it was just a silly comic book, but life in District 12 isn’t always easy. It never sat right with me. Krypton always felt far more like home than any District,” I admit.

 

“I don’t think that’s silly at all,” Lena says with a seriousness that makes me feel validated.

 

“Thank you,” I say. “And thank you for listening to me babble.”

 

“Not at all, I love hearing about it.” She blushes before speaking again. “I actually just love hearing you talk. You’re so passionate. You light up when you talk. There are very few people left in the world left with that ability.”

 

“What? To speak and not stop even when they should?” I joke.

 

“No, to care so deeply.” I can immediately hear the truth in her voice as a wave of hurt passes through her eyes. “My brother Lex was one of those people.” A bittersweet fondness enters her voice as she tells me. I can hear the hesitation, see that skittish look in her eye that says she wants to trust me but she’s still nervous to do so.

 

I don’t quite know how I feel being compared to a mass murderer and terrorist like Lex Luthor. On one hand, I feel rather insulted and a little angry. I wouldn’t want anyone to associate him with me once they know my personality, but on the other hand I can see the love in Lena’s eyes. Even though he’s awful, some part of her loves a part of him and _that_ is the part she’s comparing me to. It feels oddly… nice from the perspective.

 

“He was so passionate about fixing our world, y’know?” A rueful chuckle escapes her lips. “Of course, he did it by attempting to become this world’s new dictator, but still. He wanted to fix things,” says Lena with a voice that sounded much farther away than she is. “When we were little and the national curfew would pass and mother would put us to bed, he’d sneak into my room a little while later and whisper to me all about his plans to change things. They were stupid things at the time, just kid stuff,” she says with a chuckle of genuine happiness that feels unbefitting for a figure like him. “He wanted to get rid of the curfew and homework, stupid things like that.”

 

It feels odd to imagine somebody like Lex Luthor as an innocent child. I guess these are the grey areas Ms. Grant was talking about.

 

“Throughout all the fucked up shit he did, that’s the one thing that never wavered. He wanted to make the world a better place.”

 

She looks back at me, so intensely I feel like she’s the one with the X-Ray vision and not me. I don’t know if it feels scary, being so vulnerable, or absolutely wonderful to be seen by her, to have her look at me so strongly I feel like if she told me to fall apart I would – I would just break into a thousand pieces.

 

“And look at you, you’re just the same. A hero – trying to save the world. To fix it one moral decision at a time,” says Lena with a sad smile. “Why do I always fall so attracted to you guys?”

 

I blink my eyes widely. Did she just say attracted? I know I shouldn’t say anything lest I sound stupid, but unfortunately my mouth is one step behind my brain. “Attractive?” I question.

 

Lena laughs, a genuine laugh. It’s not big. It doesn’t come deep within her belly. It’s just a soft, tinkling laugh. It’s amusement and the beginnings of joy. “I compare you to my brother, one of the most horrible people in PanNational, and you’re focused on that?” she laughs a little more and I can see her eyes lighten just a little. “Kara, you’re something else alright.”

 

I can’t stop the smile from gracing my face as well. Seeing her like this, free and happy, it feels good. It feels even better knowing I was the one who making her smile like that, making her cheekbones slightly red from the exertion of laughing.

 

“I’m sorry for saying all that,” she apologizes after a moment. “I’m sure you didn’t want to hear all that.”

 

“I liked hearing you talk.” The words rush out of me. “It was nice, hearing about your past. Hearing about stuff _you_ care about.”

 

“Even if that stuff is Lex?” she scoffs.

 

“Especially,” I reply earnestly.

 

She looks up at me with disbelief in her eyes. Not a bad sense of disbelief, just disbelief I suppose.

 

“I’m flattered that you think highly enough of me to compare me to the better aspects of your brother.” I surprise even myself when I say it, not realizing how true it is until now.

 

She pauses for a moment before speaking. “Thank you,” she says with a sigh of relief. For a moment, it looks as though a thousand pounds has been lifted from her shoulders. Her eyes look more relaxed, her tense shoulders slump a little bit more in a way that looks almost unnatural on her, as if her body no longer knows what it looks like to be relaxed. “I do hate my brother; I hate him so much, but I also still love him for everything he was to me when we were children. So, thank you, for understanding. For not… writing me off for not writing him off.”

 

“Of course, Lena,” I say, placing a hand on her arm. There’s no giant spark that comes like you’d expect from touching your soulmate, it’s more like a warmth that simply spreads through my entire body. I move my thumb in comforting circles.

 

Her body leans into my hand almost imperceptibly. “It’s really easy to talk to you, Kara. I hope you win. You deserve it the most out of all of us.”

 

And suddenly, I can feel the moment ruined. A dark cloud whooshes over to block away any sunlight from her eyes.

 

“That’s not true!” I say immediately, my hand tightening around her arm. “Everybody deserves to live in there. _You_ deserve to live just as much as anybody else.”

 

“My family has done terrible things,” she murmurs remorsefully.

 

“But you haven’t!”

 

She concedes unwillingly, more so out of a disinterest in arguing than actual agreeing with me.

 

“Lena, look at me.” I grip both of my hands around her arms, not letting go (never letting go if it were up to me). She stares back up at me with those always-hurt, green eyes that were filled with laughter only a few minutes ago. “You deserve to live. And I’m going to make sure it happens.” I try to make her understand how much I mean it, make her understand that this isn’t some promise; it’s a vow.

 

We’re never going to have wedding vows, so this is the closest I can get.

 

“Kara,” she looks away with embarrassment, shame, discomfort.

 

“Lena.” I say, staring directly at her, pouring every emotion I’m possibly capable of having for her into that one stare so that she’ll feel it even though she won’t look back at me.

 

She moves her head uncomfortably, snuggling it closer into her own shoulder as though trying to find some physical comfort in her own body rather than another person’s. Rather than mine.

 

It’s strange to me – the two kinds of people. I’m the kind of person who immediately goes to others for physical support. If I was ever feeling down I’d seek out Alex to come and give me a hug, to just hold me. Or sometimes I’d just hold Lucy’s hand in class if I needed it. In the middle of big tests Mon-El and I would always be playfully kicking each other to ease the stress, but also remind the other that we had each other’s backs. And then there’s Lena. Whose first instinct is to curl in on herself. To never seek others even when they offer it.

 

It’s strange to me.

 

“I know that we barely know each other,” I say. “But can I hug you?”

 

She doesn't look up. She barely moves. The only answer I get is a singular nod of her head. As my arms encircle her body she tenses up momentarily before relaxing and moving her arms to grip my waist.

 

We stay like that. I don’t know if it’s out of comfort or fear or love or just the fact that nobody else is around, but we hold each other until our arms can’t stay up any longer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Review and comment because they make my day!
> 
> I love reading soulmate AU's, but obviously they're not real. So I wanted to give you another Real Life Love Story to keep you guys believing in love:
> 
> I live with my best friend and her parents are the cutest thing around. They're both in their 50's and every day she makes him coffee or he calls out goodbye love of my life or kisses her when he gets home.
> 
> What I mean to say is, people are always so worried about love being dead when you get a little older, or that maybe love doesn't exist. But damn it guys, these two still love each other like teenagers.


	7. Home & Other Things

Home & Other Things

 

**Lena POV**

 

The slight glitch, the half a second of the fuzzy forest environment suddenly turning back into the same old 18x20 training room, alerts me to another person entering the room. For a moment I tense up, wondering who it could possibly be. Friend or foe? We’re all aware of the unspoken rule – don’t interrupt other people’s training stations unless your allies or attempting to intimidate them.

 

At least they can’t kill me until the games, I think wryly.

 

As I turn around to see who it is, a sense of relief floods my body as I recognize one of the few comforting faces left in my life: Kara Danvers. The woman whose name is both on my wrist and not on it at all. Resisting the urge to run my fingers across the bracelet covering it, I send her a freezing cold smile.

 

I was nervous that seeing her again might be weird after sharing such an intimate moment with her last night, but here she is, just her usual perky smile and sunny personality.

 

“Hey Kara,” I say, turning back to the room to scope out any shelter. The program has about 20 different potential environments for me to try and find shelter in, using a combination of graphics, a weather controller, and a treadmill-esque floor so I can physically walk around without really going anywhere. I’ve only gotten through about three of twenty landscapes.

 

“Hey,” she replies. I can practically hear the smile in her voice. “I thought I’d come join you, brush up on my survivalist skills.” The feigned toughness in her voice brings a smile to my face. Even in times of, what is essentially war, this girl can make a joke. Time and time again she’s proven it, but it still astounds me every time.

 

I don’t mention how I saw her in here yesterday, finding and creating shelter in record time as though she has X-Ray vision or some sixth sense to finding preexisting shelter or at least the materials necessary.

 

I don’t mention about how she just came in here to talk to me and how I know it.

 

I don’t mention the way my stomach flips – not in a bad way, but an excited way. In a way that makes me feel amazing because somebody is actually doing all that just for me – knowing all of that.

 

“Cool, I could really use your eyes. I’ve been in this landscape for like ten minutes looking for reasonable shelter. I’m headed for the trees over there,” I state.

 

“Don’t,” she says urgently.

 

“Why?”

 

She stutters nervously for a moment, “Well, I mean, technically you can because, I mean, finding higher ground is always good and you could always climb the trees…” I almost laugh at how endearing her babbling is. “But really it’s probably better to just look at where all the animals are headed because they’re going to head towards the nearest source of water.”

 

“Alright Kara,” I say with a cheerful smile, “Let’s follow the animals!”

 

The two of us walk in silence for a little while, weaving in and out of the branches of a monkey, occasionally seeing a bird fly by or a rabbit hop in the same direction. The only words we shared were just the occasional apologies of a leaf hitting someone in the face.

 

Both of us want to say something. I want to officially ask Kara to be my ally. I mean, we’re clearly friends and we would be perfectly good allies in the games, but nothing has really been made official between us.

 

But, the weird thing is, I’m actually just itching to talk to her in general, not just about alliances. I want to have another moral debate with her. I want her to tell me more about her home in District 12. I want to make jokes and exchange trivialities that are ultimately a waste of time for the few days I have left. What makes it weird is that I usually don’t like talking to people this much. That isn’t to say I don’t like people or don’t like talking to them, but I rarely desire to do it frequently for no reason.

 

I know Kara wants to talk to me too. She’s all fidgeting and sideways glances. I wonder what it is she wants to talk to me about, but can’t articulate just like me.

 

The two of us keep walking, a strange combination of comfortability and tense unspoken words between us, before I finally break the silence. “This isn’t how I imagined looking for my first house.” I immediately regret it. Was the joke stupid? Was it, in fact, not a joke at all and just too serious? We both know the implications of my words: I’m never going to be looking for another house at all. This is it.

 

“What did you want?” she asks inquisitively.

 

“I don’t know,” I reply wistfully. For some reason, I find myself talking anyways, even though the scared part of my brain is telling me to shut up. “I guess I just pictured myself with my soulmate in the middle of District 3 just looking at houses and making stupid jokes and complaining about trivialities and just… being normal. Y’know what I mean?

 

Kara neither laughs nor allows an all-too-serious shadow to fall over her face. Instead, an optimistic smile lights up her face. “I guess we’re just going to have to make it even better,” she says with a twinkle in her eyes and a giddiness thrumming through her body so visibly I could practically feel the vibrations myself. “So, Lena, what do you think of these trees right here? I know that there isn’t much floor space, but just look at that view honey,” she says with this foolish, deep voice.

 

I can’t help but laugh at her antics. I can never help but laugh when she’s around. She just makes me want to laugh. She takes a weight off of my shoulders and always knows what I need. “Oh, I don’t know, Kara.” For a moment, an electric shock runs through my body. Saying my soulmates name, pretending this is real, god it feels so good. I know she isn’t my Kara Zor-El and I know this isn’t real, but it barely matters. “But how shall we fit all of our furniture?”

 

“I thought we agreed on a more minimalistic look with our new house, darling.” She lets out a little giggle before suppressing it, returning to her ‘very serious’ and ‘mannerly’ behavior.

 

“Minimalistic is not without furniture,” I retort.

 

“Alright, so not this one.” She glances around, looking for some other house. Finally, her eyes land on some large rocks gathered around a tree. “What about there? There’s already furniture _and_ protection from the elements. Quite a steal!”

“I don’t know. It seems a bit… hard and,” I lower my voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “look at the neighbors.” I motion to the heavy amount of bugs in the area.

 

She hmm’s thoughtfully before responding. “I see what you mean. Let’s keep moving.”

 

“What about over here,” I propose next, looking over at an oddly empty area of grass.

 

“Hm, I do like the open area, giving it that spacious feel.” Her eyebrows rise as she looks for some level of criticism from me. “And clearly, there’s plenty of entertainment space and good light.”

 

Ignoring the ever moving monkey in favor of our new potential home, I meander over to the ‘home.’ “What if we want to expand though?” I ask, glancing at the trees limiting us to the 10x10 spherical space.

 

“True, no room for improvements!”

 

“Plus, it’s a bit open. People don’t need to see what we do in the bedroom,” I tease. The deep red blush that immediately flushes her face reminds me of exactly why I enjoy hanging out with her. She’s so… pure. And easy to rile up. I immediately let out a laugh that seems to break the illusion. She stutters her way through some incoherent mumblings before simply deciding not to say a word.

 

After a few moments, the house search begins again and the two of us trek through the imaginary lots, looking at our potential houses as we follow the animals. And for a little while, I really do believe that Kara could be my soulmate and that we could be buying some stupid looking house, debating over floor plans and furniture space (but would the coach _really_ fit between the rabbit’s den and the fallen bird’s nest?).

 

It feels like a betrayal to my soulmate, not only pretending that Kara can replace her but having some secret, dark desire for Kara to be my soulmate, but I can’t help it. She’s just so easy to talk to that it’s hard to imagine somebody who is even more made for me.

 

I suppose the universe probably looked at her and thought she deserves to be with someone better than a Luthor.

 

Regardless, I allow myself to fall freely into the moment and forget about our impending doom and the outside world ready to tear us down any second. I let myself believe in this stupid, stupid future for just a moment. And it feels wonderful.

 

***

 

I go over everything that Felicity told me in my head. Arrows made of aluminum. Fruits. Cloth. Javelin. Weights made of rubber, steel, chrome, and potentially iron. Rope. Sword made out of tin and steel.

 

I repeat the list of materials and their components over and over, so afraid I might forget a part. Forgetting, messing up a single thing, will ruin it all and I’ll get a score lower than Ronnie two years back, with a score of 2.

 

Every nerve in my body is on edge. I just want to jump out of my body, jump out of this world, jump into America or Krypton. But they don’t exist – not anymore at least. Barely even in a story. It’s just PanNational and I’m stuck here. Now isn’t the time to daydream about another world when it doesn’t exist.

 

Arrows made of aluminum. Fruit – lemons, oranges, grapefruit, lime. Cloth: highly flammable. Javelin. Weights: rubber steel, chrome, iron. Rope. Sword – tin and steel.

 

If I fail, what will happen to me? Will I lose the games? If I lose the games, would that be so bad? I don't want to die, but in comparison to people like Kara or Jax, do I deserve to live more than them? Maybe failing wouldn’t be so bad…

 

My palms are sweating so much I wonder if the judges can see the sweat drip off my hands. I wonder if I’ll even be able to pick anything up, or will it all just slip out of my hands?

 

God, why is everything slipping away from me?

 

“You will have 10 minutes to demonstrate your chosen skill,” calls out the Gamemaker, Malcolm Merlyn.

 

I take a deep breath, stare down at my hands, and will them to steady. This is my moment. There’s no time for doubt or nerves. Both get you killed. You are a Luthor. You are a snake in the grass. You are not a victim.

 

The judges all have their eyes on me. Casual conversation is going on, of course, but for the most part they’re focused on me. I slowly tune them out as I reach, almost mechanically, for the parts I’d rehearsed needing over and over in my head.

 

The fruits – thank god – are exactly where I needed them to be right next to the painting section. I reach for an orange quickly and run over to the arrows, which seem light enough to be hollow so probably made of aluminum like I wanted.

 

Everything is going according to plan.

 

Taking an ax, I lift it up over my head and pray I don’t look stupid. I miss a couple times, but ultimately I get the arrow cut up into small enough pieces. The judges look generally confused with what I’m doing, but they’ll figure it out soon enough. Grabbing one of the dummies, I pull off the head (using some of the ax’s power to help) and fill it with citric acid, the smaller pieces of the arrow, and some alcohol that they always put to the side for purposes of showing how to heal wounds effectively.

 

Leaving the headless dummy body next to its head, I pour in the alcohol. It’s almost done. Let’s see if they honored my request.

 

I glance around the room, look for some sort of marked canister. Thankfully, I spot it. Thank god you can put in a singular request for something to show off a specific skill or talent. They almost stopped establishing that rule after Felicity requested a computer and hacked their systems.

 

But, they couldn’t deny that her games made for some extraordinary entertainment.

 

Grabbing the canister, I slowly open the lid and bring it back over to the concoction I’m brewing. The final ingredient. Right before pouring it in, I glance to the sky and pray to whatever higher power might exist, dumping the entire can in as quickly as possible. Then, I run as hard as I can and get clear.

 

Only moments later, does an explosion louder than I ever expected, go off. The force of the blast knocks me off my feet. I can feel every inch of its power vibrating throughout my body in a way that will hurt for the next couple hours.

 

The ringing in my ears only seems to get louder as the seconds wear on.

 

I knew, scientifically, that the average bomb would work. I know, scientifically, how much of an impact it’s supposed to have on a human within a certain radius. But I’ll be damned if I knew it would work so well.

 

I glance over at the judges, every look on their face reasonably impressed, but mostly shocked and a little bit scared not to be hiding behind a glass wall.

 

I can’t suppress the smirk rising to my face.

 

***

 

**Kara POV**

 

“This is your last chance to make an impression. We need to make sure what you say leaves your name on the people’s lips and money-grubbing fingertips,” lectures Ms. Grant. I briefly wonder if she planned out saying that line, the perfect rhyme, before dismissing the thought. Of course she didn’t, Ms. Grant would never plan out brilliance. “Of course they’ll ask about your volunteering. And what will you say?” She looks at me expectantly and I can’t help but feel the pressure.

 

“Um, that I volunteered for that little girl because it was wrong and-”

 

Ms. Grant lets out a loud, heaving sigh with a roll of her eyes and a disappointed tip of her hand. “Boring and bland. I know that I branded you a hero, but generic moral codes and vague reasons don’t appeal to the people. If you act high and might your relatability is gone and people stop sympathizing, empathizing, respecting, and suddenly no sponsors want you. You need to put some feeling, some personal tone to it. Tell me again: why did you volunteer?”

 

The thought of telling her the truth crosses my mind for a split second before immediately dismissing it. What can I tell her that would be truthful? What can I tell her that will evoke some sort of emotion? “Seeing a girl that young broke my heart to-”

 

Ms. Grant cuts me off again with a simple wave of her hand. “No, you’re still not pulling from _you._ ” She pauses for a moment, holding up a finger to silence me as the cogs turn in her head. After a minute or two she turns back to me, almost menacingly, and poses a simple question. “What are you fighting for?” She doesn’t elaborate. She doesn’t ask another question. Just that.

 

Lena. That’s the first and only thought that comes to my head. She’s the entire reason I came here after all. But I can’t just say that. So instead, maybe looking for an easy way out or for her to fill in the blank, I say, “I don’t know.”

 

She lets out a frustrated huff before downing another glass of cherry and taking a seat opposite me. “If I were still in those games do you know what I’d be fighting for?” I nod my head emphatically, even though it’s clearly a rhetorical question. “I’d be fighting for myself of course, for my life and my future,” she says it as an afterthought, “But more importantly I’d be fighting for my son, Carter.”

 

I always forget she has a son since he’s obviously never here. She wouldn’t bring him to the Capitol, and although the living is certainly higher class here than there, I respect that decision not to have him so tainted by… all this.

 

“He’s the most amazing little boy, very special,” she says with a proud smile lighting up her face. It’s a small smile, clearly restrained, but all of her love still beams out from it. “He’s my entire reason for living and I’m not ready to leave him yet. I want to see him go off and graduate. I want to see him have his own kids. I want to see him conquer this stupid, fucked up world in spite of it all.” Her hazy, hopeful looks disappears, replaced by the harshness of reality as she stares back at me. “That’s what you need. You need a personal story to pull at the heartstrings of people. What are you fighting for? Who are you living for?”

 

I pause. Lena, of course. She’s who I’m fighting for. But I’m not ready to tell that to either Lena or the whole of PanNational. But she’s not all I’m living for. If she was all I am living for, I wouldn’t be searching for some other way to survive the games when they’re over and she has won.

 

My sister’s face flashes in front of my eyes. Eliza. Lucy. Mon-El. Even Clark. Me.

 

“When my sister turned twelve I was so scared,” I begin. Ms. Grant’s eyes narrow judgmentally, but she allows me to continue. “I was so scared for 7 long years because she would be reaped. When I saw that little girl get reaped, all I could see was my sister. That’s why I volunteered.”

 

“Better. Again, but give me more.”

 

***

 

“I want to tell her.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Always kudos and comment because it makes me happy :)
> 
> No real life love story, but I did just come back from the Women's March on Washington this weekend (hence why this update was late) and it was awesome! Never back down guys! Always keep fighting for what you believe just like Kara would.


	8. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kara comes out to Ms. Grant... as an alien.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys I know its been awhile. I'm not dead. I was really busy writing a huge English paper for two months. After that was done, I admit I was just lazy and uninspired. I had a lot of difficulty writing this chapter and getting back into the groove of Kara's voice. I'm still not sure if I'm there yet, but I hope so. I hope that my updates will become more frequent now though. Below is a recap for those of you who forgot what's going on.

Revelations

 

 **Recap:** because it has been so long I thought I'd recap the story for you guys. After Lena is reaped, Kara Danvers volunteers to protect her. Cat Grant becomes Kara's mentor. James and Kara share a scene where she admits the true reason she's here and James reveals Winn is his soulmate and they're just supportive af. Kara and Lena meet and, much to Kara's shock and sadness, Lena doesn't actually know Kara is her soulmate. They hit it off, but deciding it's for the best, Kara chooses to never let Lena know she is her soulmate to spare her the pain of seeing her soulmate die/protect her/in the ring with her. Kara and Lena have a moral debate about killing - Kara against it and Lena for it in the case of the Hunger Games - which, after the guidance of James and Cat, ultimately brings the two closer together (it's one of my favorite chapters). Also, Kara admits to Lena that she has met her soulmate, but doesn't tell Lena it's her. They bond more in cutesy bonding - Kara telling Lena about Krypton (as if it were a fictional story) and Lena about Lex - and fluff that makes me happy. Kara lies, partially, to Cat about why she volunteered. And we leave off with Kara saying she wants to "Tell her the truth" who is this her? Well, find out below...

 

**Kara Danvers POV**

I don’t think people understand what it means to be an immigrant. When I arrived on Earth I had this entire history behind me, a whole different culture and set of values, but I couldn't talk about any of it. Of course, the stakes are a bit more drastic for me than normal human immigrants, being essentially illegal and all, but it still stands for others who try to move into other districts seeking a better life.

 

People forget that when you’re an immigrant everybody expects _you_ to assimilate, _you_ to change, and _you_ to adapt their culture. The second you challenge that; you are no longer one of them. Suddenly, you’re below them again.

 

And when you do finally want to tell somebody about your past, when you want them to know who you really are not just who you are _now_ , how are you supposed to do that when you’ve been conditioned not to talk about it?

 

I know Ms. Grant has interviewed one or two people who had ‘immigrated’ to District 12 after District 13 got bombed, but calling them immigrants is a bit inaccurate. They were refugees, and even so Ms. Grant lacked any real bias in her report so judging how sympathetic she might be to me and my immigrant status is really hard to say.

 

“I’m really glad you chose her.” I walk a little further into the private apartment to track down the source of the voice.

           

“She still needs a lot of work, but I believe she really could win it all,” Ms. Grant replies earnestly. When I turn the corner of her hallway I finally see who she’s talking to.

 

I’d seen him around our District before. He hung out a lot at the afterschool program I volunteered for a couple times a week. He never needed any math help though so I never really talked to him. He’d just hang out with his friends, quietly playing chess, waiting for Ms. Grant to pick him up.

 

“She’s really nice, too,” he adds.

 

“Oh, trust me, I know,” Ms. Grant replies in exasperation. Ms. Grant sits up straighter in the stiff white chair and crosses her legs before continuing. “Now, you’re not to tell anyone this, understood?” She waits for the curl-shaking nod of his head. “She’s far _too_ nice. She won’t even kill anyone!”

 

Shockingly, he doesn’t look like everybody else when they found out I refuse to kill in the area, all condescending and angry as if they’d been personally offended by _my_ decision about _my_ life. He just smiles. “She’s like a real life superhero!” His eyes sparkle as if he’s just seen something inhumanely majestic before him… or probably like me when I see a plate of pot stickers.

 

“She won’t be stopping too many villains if she dies in the first five minutes,” Ms. Grant replies off-handedly.

 

“She’ll be okay,” Carter replies with the kind of self-assured shrug he probably shouldn’t have about such a capricious situation.

 

“Well I guess if you say so, then it must be so,” Ms. Grant teases in an uncharacteristically good-natured way.

 

“Well, like you said, she could win. Plus, she has you as a mentor and you’re great at everything you do, mom. Together, you can’t lose!”

 

Ms. Grant doesn’t respond for a few seconds. When she does, there’s a noticeable change in her voice. It reminds me of that night the two of us sat on her balcony and she talked about killing Leslie Willis. It was one of those rare moments when there was no snark or superiority or just general lack of caring. It was just true. True and honest. “Thank you.”

 

Suddenly feeling like someone breaking into a house they shouldn’t be in or overhearing an intimate secret not for my ears, I step away from the wall I’d been hiding behind and knock.

 

“I was wondering when you’d announce yourself,” her voice reverts back to the normal scathing bite. She doesn’t even turn around, just continues staring at her son through the 5x5” screen in her hand. She grabs a cup from the coffee table near her and waves it lazily in the air as a signal to go fetch her more of whatever was previously in there, probably alcohol.

 

I rush over, feeling suddenly foolish and embarrassed at being caught. I figured I’d be the one with the upper hand, having eavesdropped on a conversation she wouldn’t know I’d overheard (not that an ‘upper hand’ was my intention), but of course Ms. Grant doesn’t let anyone get the best of her. I should’ve expected as much.

 

“Um, what were you drinking?” I ask, sweeping up her cup. “Hey Carter!” I say, butting onto the limited screen with a smile and a quick wave before heading towards the nearby kitchen.

 

“M&M’s, but if you want to grab me the bourbon while you’re over there feel free,” she calls out.

 

“You know my name?” I hear him ask, somewhat awestruck.

 

“Course I do.” I easily spot the oversized, half-filled glass jar of M&M’s and stick the cup in like a ladle, gathering as many as possible. “You hung out in the rec room all the time after school.” Should I grab the bourbon?

 

“Sure,” Carter says unsurely. “Anyways, I’m sure Kara wants to talk to you now and Justin’s in the other room waiting for my next move so I should get going! Bye mom! Love you!”

 

“Love you too, sweetie.”

 

Deciding to bring the bourbon, especially in light of what I’m about to tell her, I head back just in time to see her click off the tablet that only really exists in the first couple of Districts.

 

“It seems my son has a bit of a crush on you.” She accepts the glass of M&M’s, and then with an impressed eyebrow raise, the glass of bourbon. “Now you have to win.”

 

“A crush?” I sputter. “I don’t think so Ms. Grant.” I can feel the blush flourishing on my face.

 

“Please, I know my son,” she replies like every all-knowing mother does when their child is the subject of conversation. “Anyways, what is it you want, Keira?” She raises the cup of M&M’s to her lip and downs a couple as though they were the bourbon sitting on the side table.

 

The rush of anxiety returns, no longer distracted by stupid food orders or embarrassing claims about her son. _I practiced this with Alex. I’ve got this. I’ve practiced this with Alex. I’ve got this._

The thing is, practice and the real thing are too entirely separate things.

 

I know I should just get it over with. That’s how I usually do things after all. If there’s anything I learned from Krypton’s destruction it’s that, ultimately, there is no real ‘softening of the blow’ when the blow still exists. But simply ‘ripping off the Band-Aid’ feels wrong here. This isn’t just another thing to get over with quickly. This is my life, after all.

 

“I have something to tell you,” I say after a few more moments of thought. “I think it might be a way for me to survive these games without killing.” Ms. Grant raises a disbelieving but an ‘I’ll entertain the (foolish) idea’ look. “It’s a long story and I need you to hear all of it. I _can’t_ just shorten it.” I pause for a moment. “Do you understand?”

 

“I am a journalist. My job is to listen to very long stories.” She says it in her typically bored tone, but I can see it in her eyes. She wants me to know that it should have been obvious that she’d listen. I can go to her.

 

“Thank you,” I say, breathing a sigh of relief.  She responds only with an unrelated sip of her bourbon. I move to turn around and walk away before pivoting to turn to her again, “Also, I need you to come with me to the balcony.” She doesn’t say a single word, barely emotes any expression, as she simply grabs her M&M’s and bourbon and follows me out onto the balcony.

 

She leisurely leans against the balcony. She doesn’t say a word, only looks at me expectantly.

 

I’m not entirely sure where to begin. When I was with Alex, I mostly just practiced telling her more or less immediately and, clearly, I had already diverged from that. I guess it all begins with Krypton’s destruction, up in those stars that look deceivingly peaceful, but it doesn’t feel right to start there. What would Ms. Grant know of the stars? If there’s one thing I learned from reading so many books as a kid on Krypton, it’s that relatability and accessibility for the reader is key. Starting off from such an ‘out there’, literally, moment in time wouldn’t be very accessible to her at all. So what would be a good place to start?

 

After another minute of expectant and tension-filled silence, I finally know exactly where to begin. “I don’t know if you remember this, but the first day we met I told you I was adopted.”

 

"Ah yes. If I remember correctly, you labelled me as ignorant for jumping to conclusions that you and that little girl you took the place of, Iris West, couldn’t be related just because you didn’t look alike.”

 

Although I stand by my words, I still feel a blush heat up my cheek with a sense of embarrassment. If there is one thing Ms. Grant is not, it is ignorant. “Yeah, uh, that.” I pause for a moment before promptly ignoring any further awkwardness and moving on. “My real name is Kara Zor-El and I’m not really from District 12 or, at least, that’s not where I was born. I had another family, another home, before I was adopted by the Danvers.”

 

“I was curious how you,” she pauses as if searching for the right words, “came to be. Adoption is far and few between in 12.”

 

“My family, my house, heck my entire world, was destroyed in an explosion.”

 

“District 13,” Ms. Grant says in a shocked whisper.

 

“Actually, not quite. But what do you know about the destruction of District 13?” I ask, seemingly changing the subject.

 

She looks at me with genuine surprise before quickly covering it up with her normal scowl. “Not much. It’s not like a lot of information, even gossip or rumor, gets out when your totalitarian government makes sure of it.” It’s my turn to be shocked as I listen, fueled by paranoia, for any unwanted people nearby. Thankfully, nobody’s heartbeat is close enough to overhear what she said.

 

“That’s a dangerous accusation,” I say cautiously.

 

“But not a false one,” she tuts before stealing a couple more M&M’s from the cup placed easily on the barrier separating Ms. Grant from free-falling to her death.

 

I don't openly agree or disagree with her, only shrug my shoulders and continue on. “I heard a story once that the capitol lied about a rebellion in the District. There was no rebellion, just a man.”

 

“Oh?” And that’s when I knew. Most people would have… a reaction, of some sort at least. Admittedly, Ms. Grant is not the most openly emotional person to have ever graced the earth, but she doesn’t seem the least bit phased. She already knows. Whether or not she believes it, I don’t know. But somehow, she’s heard this before.

 

“You’ve heard it.” It’s not a question.

 

“Like I said, I haven’t heard _much_ , not nothing at all.” She takes her first sip from her bourbon glass. She doesn’t break eye contact with me once the whole time.

 

"What do you know about the man?”

 

“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me what I know?” she challenges.

 

I raise an eyebrow, but meet the challenge accordingly. “He was powerful. Powerful enough to threaten the entire government.”

 

“People who unite often are,” Ms. Grant replies, cryptically eyeing me up and down.

 

“It was more than just uniting. Well, I mean, he was a uniter, but some people think there was more to it than that. Some people don’t even think he was a man. He had… abilities. People thought he was more than human.”

 

“What did they think he was? A dog?” Ms. Grant jokes snidely. “I’ve never been able to get behind that bit of the story. Of course he was human. He just had a few extra tricks up his sleeve.” And here I thought it might be easy to tell her because she already believed in the existence of aliens. Apparently not.

 

Switching tactics, I look up to the night sky. “Ms. Grant, look up and tell me what you see.”

 

Obligingly, she does. The drink in her hand swishes a little, threatening to spill over the side as her center of balance shifts. “I see the night sky.”

 

“And I see the remnants of my home.” Ms. Grant glances back at me before looking back up. “Up in those stars somewhere, far away, are the bits and pieces of a planet not too unlike this one before it exploded.” Ms. Grant’s head moves so fast I would’ve expected a normal human’s neck to break.

 

“You’re from space?” she pauses for a moment, as if seriously processing the possibility, before promptly writing it off. With a flippant wave of her hand, as if to say ‘You are delusional. Go to bed’, she leans back, posture going from her normal, serious-but-somewhat-bored, to a full on lazy slouch. “Don’t be ridiculous, Keira.”

 

“The man wasn’t a dog,” I continue. Her heartbeat certainly makes up for their lack of caring she displays. “He was from space too. That’s why he had abilities. I have abilities too.”

 

She raises a bemused, innocent eyebrow in silent challenge before responding. “I’m not _completely_ unreasonable. I am a reporter after all. Show me the evidence and I’ll believe it when I see it.” She brings her drink to her lips in a manner that can only be described as haughty before continuing. “Come now,” she makes a ‘bring it on’ motion with her right hand, “Read my mind or summon a thunderstorm. Whatever this mythical superpower you have is.”

 

Emboldened and excited to finally be sharing my life, who I really am, with someone outside of the Danvers I can’t help the giddy excitement I haven’t felt since I was a child as I levitate above my chair. For the first few seconds I don’t even focus on Ms. Grant. I haven’t used my powers in so long I’m a little nervous I may fall or they might give out on me, but I guess it’s like learning the multiplication tables. Once it’s ingrained in you, there’s no forgetting.

 

When I finally tune back into my surroundings and look up I notice Ms. Grant’s heart beating at borderline unhealthy speeds as she just stands there, staring slack jawed. I don’t even try to suppress the smile rising to my face, both at actually using and displaying my true potential for the first time in years and also in leaving Ms. Grant speechless (the latter is somehow more gratifying).

 

Neither of us talk for a full minute, which doesn’t sound like a very long time until you’re actually in the moment. She immediately separates from the ledge and comes to circle me, as if she’s looking for some sort of trick holding me in the air in this strange mix of predatory hunt and confused and curious scientist.

 

It feels strange, telling someone. Like, I’ve never actually had to _tell_ someone before. When Clark dropped me off at the Danvers’ doorstep he was the one who told them who and what I was. I’d considered telling Lucy a couple times, but it never seemed safe – for either of us – with her father being a peacekeeper and all. This is the first time I’ve actually told someone and it’s… indescribable.

 

On one hand I just want to giggle excitedly and lift Ms. Grant up into the air with one arm and fly her around the whole damn city. I don’t even want to talk to her. I just want to show off and let my actions speak for themselves. On the other hand, I want her to sit down and just stay up for hours with me talking about everything. I want to tell her about Krypton and all my abilities and what it was like growing up in a human household.

 

And yet, I’m absolutely terrified that she might reject me. She could go straight to the people in charge and tell them about me. She could hurt me. She could go after the Danvers. She could be the catalyst for District 12’s destruction. She could lead to Lena’s death. And it’s hard to feel giddy and excited when everyone you love could be at stake.

 

More than anything though, I wish it wasn’t her I was telling but Lena. Even if she weren’t my soulmate, I would just feel safer telling Lena. We haven’t known each other very long, but I trust her as much as I trust Alex or Eliza. And even more than that, I just _want_ to tell her. I want her to know me and I don’t want to keep secrets from her.

 

But I’m not telling Lena. I’m talking to Ms. Grant, or, more accurately, she’s talking to me now. I should’ve known she’d only be phased for a minute, max. “Other abilities?” she asks, more demanding than curious or scared.

 

“Um, super strength. Super speed. Freeze breath. X-Ray vision. Heat vision, which is far less invasive but far more dangerous. More or less, I’m invulnerable to most earthly means of inflicting pain,” I tick off almost mechanically.

 

“Most earthly means?” Ms. Grant mocks. My right hand moves of its own volition to cover my ears, and thus their embarrassed reddening, with my hair. I didn’t mean to sound so… oddly formal. I just… like sounding more formal when I’m in ‘Zor-El’ mode. Ms. Grant pauses before continuing with her line of questions. “So what means are you vulnerable to?”

 

“Um… I’m not sure if I feel comfortable telling you that.”

 

“I’m standing at the mercy of an alien I barely know who could kill me in at least five different ways before I even realized I’d been killed, but you’re the uncomfortable one?” she comments mirthlessly. Nothing about her outward appearance – back straight, posture assertive, face expressionless but somehow exuding superiority – would indicate fear, but I understand Ms. Grant. As much as she’d like to think herself somewhat unpredictable and complicated, she’s not. She’s a strong, confident woman who never shows fear even when she would otherwise be quaking in her incredibly high heels.

 

“I would _never_ hurt you, Ms. Grant.”

 

She makes an entirely unconvinced sound.

 

“It’s funny. To me it feels like _you_ have all the power,” I reply with a forced chuckle. At the comment, her shoulders relax a fraction of an inch.

 

“All the power in the world and you’re afraid of me,” she muses. “You’re something else Ms. Danvers,” she says with a cluck of her tongue.

 

After that, the atmosphere of our conversation changes. In mutually airing our fears, there was no longer anything to be afraid of. She wasn’t afraid of me because she understood I would never hurt her and she was no longer in a position of power over me because now we were equals.

 

It’s a long time before she says anything again. “So why are you here?” Without even waiting for a response, she just keeps talking to work it out herself. “You weren’t reaped, you volunteered. I suppose you could’ve volunteered for that little girl out of the goodness of your heart, but I don’t think so. If what you say is true andyou have no intention to kill and have only mentioned your abilities as of now, meaning you were never planning on using them in the games, then you’re not here for glory. If you’re not here for yourself, you’re here for somebody else. And of course, you suffer from that millennial sentimentality so the most likely reason for you to be here is driven by some overly saccharine motivation. So, it’s probably somebody close to you. But you also know that District and everybody you care about is at stake, much like District 13, if you mess up even a little bit and reveal your true identity. So it has to be more than just loyalty. It has to be life or death that you come here. The only people that it’d be truly life and death for are those in the games. James?” For the first time in the last very fast-talking two minutes she actually acknowledges my presence, searching for some affirmation.

 

“Actually no, but-”

 

“Okay, so not James. Who else have you been close to?” She pauses to go through the, frankly short, list before letting out an audible gasp. “Lena Luthor is your soulmate.”

 

My first instinct is, of course, to deny it. I’m still not used to actually having people know. Back in District 12 it was suicide for anyone who wasn’t a close friend to know a Luthor was soulmate and now I can’t really tell much of anyone for Lena’s sake. “No, of course n-” and then I remember, I came here to tell Cat everything. _Everything._ “I mean, how did you figure that out?”

 

With a far too smug smirk on her face that makes me regret confirming Ms. Grant’s suspicions, she replies, “I’m a reporter. Nobody actually wants to tell me their story. I usually have to figure it all out before them and then confront them before they tell me anything. All of this,” she waves her hand, “is practically second nature.” As if to prove it, she continues revealing my life story as though I’d already told it to her. “So you must’ve come here on some naïve hope that you can save her, but, it actually turns out it’s not that naïve and you probably can.”

 

I nod. “But the thing is, since I’m more or less invulnerable it’ll be almost impossible for me to die, and thus impossible for Lena to win. But I think there’s a way to stop all of that from happening.”

 

"I assume this has to do with your initial opener of surviving the games without killing?”

 

“It does,” I affirm. “But I need your help.” With an intrigued look and a very raised eyebrow, Ms. Grant waits patiently for me to continue. “What if, I faked my death?”

 

“I’m listening.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real life love story this time, but a real life apology for not having updated for so long and a real life thank you to all of you who returned, because I know some of you won't (understandably) and for those of you who, even in your impatience, have nonetheless been patiently waiting for me to update. I appreciate all of you so much for all of this.
> 
> S/O to Irishqueen. I had been itching to get back to writing this anyways and a lot of Irishqueen's impact simply comes from having reviewed recently, which inspired me to come back. But the content of their review was very sweet and moving and reminded me of why I had to come back. Thank you for being a major force for coming back and holding me accountable for not just leaving this story (especially when I love it a lot), much like I love all of you guys who read/review/kudos, etc.
> 
> Like I said, it has been awhile. But I've already written half of the next chapter. I know this didn't have two POV's like normal, but it was an exceptionally long chapter and I wanted to publish ASAP as well so that you guys can actually have some content after months of my disappearing.


	9. The Soulmate You Deserve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for our two favorite girls to get their official capitol interviews!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See guys, I promise I'm back and I'm dedicated to bringing actual content to your screens because i love this story just as much as you guys do. A lot of you guys have your (well-founded) concerns and curiosities but fear not, for the most part, I've already planned out my answers!
> 
> Without further ado,

 

The Soulmate You Deserve

 

**Lena Luthor POV**

 

When I walked into the first day of Lex’s trial, if you can even call it a trial – it was more of a formal condemnation – I thought nothing could be worse. Every hair on my body stood up to gaze back at the matching one thousand eyes. I hadn’t slept the last three nights, running solely on terror and anxiety. I couldn’t force food down and my stomach ached with the temptation to throw up, but the inability to do so. I could hear all of the whispers without really hearing what they said, and I knew this was going to be the worst day of my life. And, worst of all, an indication for the rest of my life.

 

I’d never know what people are saying. I’d never feel safe again. I’d never be okay again.

 

Apparently, Lex’s trial had nothing on The Hunger Games interviews.

 

It was different, of course. The fear and anxiety wasn’t the same, once a new enemy who I was still in constant combat with, but, by now, we’re old friends. I find it more startling when people are nice to me than when they’re mean. If they’re mean, at least I know their motives. When they’re nice they almost always have another agenda I’m forced to figure out.

 

At the trial, I knew everybody watching me, both in the room and at home, hated me. They were venomous snakes looking to sink their teeth into the latest kill. But this audience was cheering, like maybe they could be rooting for me. Or maybe just rooting for me to die as I should, a public spectacle for their entertainment like my brother should’ve.

 

I’m just a caged animal on display.

 

The blinding lights scorch my skin and make me sweat even more. I fucking hate them. The more I sweat the more the lights highlight it. I’m terrified to lift my arms. At this rate, the whole room could probably smell my fear if I did.

 

Mxyzsptlk’s face stares back at me, his eyes just as empty as I’d expected. He has this dazzling smile on his face trying to reassure the contestants he’s a friendly and jovial interviewer. He’s supposed to be of the people, but here for us too. But there’s nothing behind his blue-eyeshadow eyes or bleached-white teeth that looks anything other than beautifully menacing.

 

It’s funny, how there’s nowhere safe in The Hunger Games. When I was younger, I’d always play this archaic sport with some of the boys on the block. Baseball. You’d have to run like a demon out of hell, the rush would be intense and you’d have trouble falling asleep later that night when you remembered the feeling, but there’d always be a safe place for you to run to.

 

If you played a game where there was never any safety, I’d imagine you’d get tired pretty quickly. The wonderful rush through your veins would turn into paranoia and fear. That’s what The Hunger Games was. It was the rush, constantly draining you with no hope of respite.

 

There were times where I would be lulled into a false sense of security. I would sit down with Felicity and I’d feel safe with her. I knew she was on my side. But in the back of my mind, I knew she was internally telling herself not to get too close to me because I was going to die. In her head, she was analyzing me to give Jax the best chances of winning with or without me. And Kara Danvers, god I felt so safe with her. We’d talk and I knew she cared about what I was saying. She was never mean to me and always so genuine. But then I’d walk away and I’d remember.

 

We’re supposed to kill each other.

 

I don’t know if there are truly no safe spaces in The Hunger Games, or if it just steals safety from you, but in the end it doesn’t really matter if you’re not safe either way.

 

Mxyzsptlk’s voice draws me back. “But let’s get off of that unsavory matter. I think we’ve heard enough about Lex. Let’s talk more about you,” he says. He leans his body in, as if he could really give a damn about me.

 

I’m honestly shocked he’s even asking questions unrelated to Lex. I figured he’d milk my past as a pariah for the entirety of our interview. It is, after all, the most interesting thing about me. “Getting picked for the games is always difficult. Is there anything or anyone you’re sad to leave behind, even if it is only temporary?”

 

A twinge of sadness fueled anxiety hits me. After Lex, anybody I could call a friend abandoned me.

 

I suppose I miss who my brother used to be, but that’s unrelated to getting reaped and I could never say that to all of PanNational; I’d be crucified on the spot. I love my mother. She is my mother after all, no matter what I love her. But I also can’t say I’d miss her. Quite the opposite actually.

 

I’ve been dying to get away from her for years. I remember when I first thought of running away at 8 years old. It was clear she never liked me, but that had been okay because Lex and father had been around at the time. But that day, I walked through the door with Lex and she went to go hug him and say hello, peppering him with kisses, and she just ignored me. I stood there, awkwardly to the side, waiting for my hug that would never come. Ever since then, I’ve been counting down the days I could leave.

 

I guess the only thing I’ll _really_ miss is any hope for freedom.

 

But I know that’s not the answer they want. Fuck, the answer they want is for me to say nobody and to go off into a horrible rage so that I can prove myself as the one-dimensional, black-and-white villain they already believe me to be. But I won’t give them that. And I won’t give them a tragic pity party they desire either, one where I look like there’s no one for me to miss and no one to miss me (no matter how true it is).

 

I look down, shielding my face as much as I can from the audience. The less they can see, the less they can notice I’m lying through my teeth when I talk about my ‘beloved’ mother. “I’m really sad to leave behind-” and then it catches my eye. My soulmate mark.

 

I don’t technically know them so I’m not sure how much I can miss them, but they’ve always been a comforting presence in my life. They’ve always been some affirmation that someone somewhere out there will love me, even if I don’t deserve it. I know that for them it must be hell to have my name on their arm and to know that they’re damned to love me, but selfishly, I still revel in the fact that they are on my arm and I am on theirs.

 

“My soulmate,” I say. ‘At least I’m not lying,’ I think to myself.

 

A small gasp erupts from the audience. “So you’ve met your soulmate?” Mxyzptlk asks greedily like a dog who has just been offered a juicy steak.

 

“No,” I correct. The entire room settles, leans back a little bit in their seats. For a second, I turned their world upside-down. The idea that a _Luthor_ of all people found their soulmate before some of those damned, privileged Capitol members did would have been an outrage to them, I’m sure. “But I’m still sad to be leaving them.”

 

“It is always sad to see somebody without their other half.” It disgusts me how sympathetic, how insightful, he sounds when I know he has the depths of a soup bowl.

 

“They have always been a constant presence in my life,” I begin. “I’ve always wanted to meet them and find somebody who completes me so fully, like everybody talks about.” The words fall out of me now. “They’ve been a promise I’ll never get to fulfill. But I guess some of us just aren’t that lucky. I guess the universe thinks some of us don’t deserve to find them in the end,” I add on quietly.

 

Mxyzptlk nods solemnly before responding. “I know it’s a very personal thing to ask for, but would you be willing to share their name with us—so that they know you’re out there thinking of them, of course.”

 

I guess I have nothing to lose now. Literally. “Kara Zor-El.”

 

“A Kara? Much like the one here tonight?”

 

I nod. “Yes, but not the same last name, although I’d be just as lucky if it were her name on my wrist. She’s been a great ally to me since we were first reaped.”

 

“Oh? So we should look forward to this dynamic duo in the games?” Mxyzptlk raises his eyebrows, hungry for any tidbit or spoiler he can get of what might be to come in the games.

 

“I sure hope so.”

 

“Well I’ll certainly look forward to it! Lena Luthor everybody!”

 

***

 

**Kara POV**

 

My mother was one of the greatest judges on Krypton. For the most part, I was too young to understand what was going on, so I rarely went to her trials. Sometimes, however, I would see a snippet of the trial as I waited for my mom to take me home. That happened a lot more when Astra went away and she couldn’t look after me when my parents were busy. The trials themselves were pretty boring, but I liked to watch my mother. She exuded power in the simplest of looks, the straightness of her back, or the empathetic but not necessarily merciful look in her eyes. I practiced that look in the mirror sometimes when we’d come home because I wanted to be just like her. I like the idea of being strong, but not scary. Over the years, I’d mastered the look with ease.

 

But the thing about a mirror is that it can only reflect _you_ , not the other people around you once you leave that safe, reflective space. It doesn’t account for the thousands of people staring at you from a filled-to-the-brim room judging your every action. Imitation can only take you so far.

 

"Ms. Danvers, I must say it is an absolute _honor_ to meet you.” Mxyzptlk bows low and grabs my hand lay an overeager, over exaggerated kiss on it.

 

“Thanks, you too. It’s wonderful just to _be_ here,” I gush. Cat and I had gone over the ‘script’ so much I didn’t just have the words memorized I practically had the beats, the pauses, and the laughter timed to a perfect tee.

 

“Absolutely, isn’t the capitol just wonderful!” Mxyzptlk touts, his arms spread out, urging cheers from the audience. I don’t say, ‘Of course the capitol is wonderful when you ignore all of the forgotten people who make it so amazing.’ Despite my scathing unsaid response, the audience cheers raucously, with a painted smile on their lips. Mxyzptlk waits for the noise to die down before continuing. “It’s just a shame _why_ you have to be here in the first place.”

 

I nod, waiting for him to inevitably expand on his question. “When you volunteered for that little girl I was incredibly moved by your amazing bravery. Tell me, why did you do it?” Ms. Grant would be proud of him. The only time he seems to show any real interest in his interviewees is when he knows he has a story.

 

“Nobody celebrates their twelfth birthday once you get to the outer districts. I understood why in theory, but it only became real to me when my sister turned twelve and nobody celebrated. Every year before that there would be a party with a cake that took a month of rationing for us to get. And then, that year, there was just a hollow silence that overtook the house that day.” I pause. “I held her as she cried that night.” I look over at Mxyzptlk, eating up my story. It feels weird to watch people watching me at my most vulnerable. I’m still sticking to our script, but it’s more than just practiced words. This is my life. These are my personal memories. I take a deep breath before continuing.

 

“A lot of my friends were my sister’s friends so this kept happening all around me to everybody I cared about.” When Lucy turned twelve she wouldn’t talk to me for three straight days. I accepted it because I knew that she was just doing what she needed to. On the fourth day, she finally opened her mouth to talk, but ended up sobbing. As the daughter of a Peacekeeper, crying wasn’t really allowed. She’d just been bottling it up for days. Mike tried to do the ‘strong and stoic’ thing too. He had a crush on me and he wanted to look ‘manly’ for me. A couple of months later, Alex told me how he went to her for support. I take another deep breath to quell the tears, noticeable enough for the audience to pick up on it, threatening to leak from my eyes. “So when that little twelve-year-old girl, Iris West, was reaped, I didn’t just see her but I saw the terrified face of my sister, my best friends Lucy and Mike, and even myself.”

 

The room stays so quiet for a moment that the only thing I can hear is the in and out of breath and heartbeats, not a word is whispered or a body moved. Eventually, Mxy speaks again, “That is so moving, Kara. Thank you.” He bows his head in appreciation and the moment is lost among murmuring crowd members.

 

It feels… wrong to share a story so deeply personal and then _lie_ at the very end. When Iris West’s name was called I didn’t think about Alex or Lucy or Mike. I was thinking about Lena. But I can’t say that. I’d like to think, had the circumstances been different, I would have thought of them and still stood up for that little girl, but I don’t really know that, and to claim that this is how it truly happened feels false.

 

Mxyzptlk draws me back to the interview. “Now, your sister Alex, she’s here tonight, am I correct?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Do you think she could come out right now?” He says it like he’s asking permission, but we both know that there’s no way she could say no now.

 

“Of course.”

 

The crowd goes wild as my sister walks out in a beautiful, blue dress and the two of us immediately go to hug each other. In my mind, I thank Rao for giving me Alex. I may never understand why Rao would allow Krypton to be destroyed, but if it led me to this moment, hugging my sister, maybe there’s a reason for it all.

 

The two of us disentangle after an abnormally long hug and I make my way back to my seat.

 

“Now, Kara, or should I call you,” he pauses, “Supergirl.” He looks over to the roaring crowd with his trademark overdone smile, as if the crowd had been waiting with bated breath for him to say that one magic word, before continuing. “Tell us, has our beloved hero met her soulmate?”

 

I can immediately feel the catch of breath in my throat. I knew he was going to ask me. He asks everyone. But it still makes me nervous. Ms. Grant and I didn’t really talk about it so much as argue.

 

_"You have to tell them Lena Luthor is your soulmate!” Ms. Grant maintains the aggravated glare that hasn’t let up this entire conversation._

_Shaking my head for what feels like the hundredth time I reply, “Ms. Grant, you don’t understand-”_

_“No Keira, I understand perfectly. Rather than actually improve your chances of winning by manipulating those foolish, lovesick assholes in the Capitol crowd you’d rather die.”_

_I can feel my blood beginning to boil. Nothing Ms. Grant said before in this argument has bothered me until now, but this? This is just a willful ignorance to the entire reason I’m here. “None of this has ever been about what’s best for me, but what’s best for her and if there’s a chance I might die for this – for her – I’m not going to do anything halfway.”_

_Ms. Grant sighs. “Of course I had to pick the hero.”_

We never really came to a scripted decision because Ms. Grant is so darn stubborn and she refused to respect my wishes. Even though I know what I’m going to say, more or less, it still makes me a little nervous and… guilty not to follow Ms. Grant’s advice and support which, up until this point, has been faultless. At least I am going to admit to having met my soulmate (I kind of have to after telling Lena I’ve met my soulmate), which is sort of a compromise between Ms. Grant and I.

 

“Um, yes I have,” I reply. A shocked murmur breaks out among the crowd before an overzealous clapping overtakes the stadium. It seems strange to me that they should cheer for just having met. We haven’t done anything yet. It would make more sense if they cheered for us being in an actual relationship or hitting an anniversary or doing something cute. Not just existing.

 

The only thing we’ve done is talk. I haven’t told her that I’m her soulmate. I haven’t showered her with the love and kisses she deserves. I haven’t done any _real_ gesture of love for her. I haven’t earned her love yet, so I haven’t earned their applause yet. It just makes me feel… skeevy.

 

“Can you tell us her name?” Mxy asks with an excited grin that looks surprisingly genuine. It’s in that moment that I realize Mxy hasn’t met his own soulmate. That’s why he’s so overeager. And I wonder how that must feel. He’s one of the most privileged people in the world and some girl from District 12 of all places has met her soulmate before he has. More than anything, he just looks desperate for some tidbit of information.

 

I look back over to the audience, hardly visible through the darkened lighting, but in the first couple of rows – the people who must have paid more than Eliza and Jeremiah have ever made in their life just to sit in the front row for a few hours – I can see their faces. Through the pounds of make-up, I can see that same, hungry look of desperation. It’s like they’ve gotten so used to having, they’re just hungry for anything that they don’t automatically have.

 

“Um, she’s pretty private,” I reply with a blush.

 

"Well, either way I guess this confirms that you’re not the Kara on Ms. Luthor’s wrist after all,” Mxy jokes.

 

Everyone in the audience cackles with him and I can’t contain the sudden surge of anger that rushes through me, rapidly moving from my chest to the rest of my body. The normal dams I keep on my strength flood over with anger and I can’t stop them from flowing out of my body.

 

I quickly move my hands to my thighs, clench my fists around my legs and release all of my energy back into the only thing that could actually handle my strength: me. All of them are laughing, and I’m basically powerless to stop them.

 

And for the first time, I understand what it must be like to be Lena all the time. How is she supposed to believe in herself, believe that she deserves love, when the entire world is laughing at her expense? And me? I have the privilege of getting angry? Lena just has to… hold it in and be calm. She not even allowed to feel what she’s feeling.

 

And, Rao, I felt like my heat vision was just about ready to boil over and hit some person in the crowd.

 

Thankfully, rather than my heat vision boiling over it’s just my words. “I would be lucky if Lena were my soulmate,” I respond proudly. I can feel myself regaining control of my strength again as the laughter subsides.

 

I don’t even bother suppressing my smile as the crowd dulls to an awkward hush. Mxy clears his throat before continuing as if I hadn’t just stood up for public enemy number one. “Right, of course. Now, at least tell us _something_ about your soulmate!”

 

“Um,” I pause. There are so many things Lena is. She’s beautiful and smart and empathetic and she truly listens and she’s challenging and she makes me a better person and she’s risen beautifully above everything life has thrown at her. “She’s so many things, but to prevent boring you to death, I’ll just say insanely smart and understanding,” I gush.

 

“It must’ve been especially difficult to leave her,” Mxy says with fake sympathy.

 

“I can only hope she understands why I did it, even if she can’t forgive me.”

 

“That is _so_ moving. Thank you for sharing your experience with us, Kara.” Rising from his seat, he turns to face the audience, “Give it up for Kara Danvers, our very own Supergirl!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, what I like about this universe is that, in my mind, it's a Soulmate AU meaning that homophobia doesn't exist in this society because how can you fight a HIGHER POWER literally approving of homosexuality? I just wanted to point that out for all of y'all because it's like the only good thing about Kara's universe in this story :)
> 
> Get ready because, if all goes according to plan, the next chapter should be the last one before we go into the Games. Also get ready because I haven't ACTUALLY planned out what's going to happen in these games... teehee.
> 
> As always, thank you for every kudos and comment and just, reading the content. All of it matters to me. All of it is important and brightens my day to think people aren't just engaging with my content. Thanks all!


	10. The Fear Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On their last night before the games, Lena goes to thank Kara for everything she did during the interview. Winn asks Kara a favor. And Kara hugs Alex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter goes out to Irishqueen. I appreciate everyone's kudos and comments. Every time I see one in my mailbox my mood is instantly lifted. For any of you who have read Olive Kitteridge, it's my "Little Burst." However, this specifically goes out to Irishqueen for getting so into it and just partially ranting in the comments and being so passionate and making me smile a lot - they practically wrote me a comment as long as the fic.

The Fear Before the Storm

 

As I walk towards her I almost chuckle at the complete irony of the situation. Despite not knowing her for more than a couple days, I find her in the first place I look. I’ve never known anybody as well as I seem to know her, and yet she is the one person who is almost assuredly not my soulmate. I guess the world is cruel like that. Or, maybe it’s just cruel to a Luthor. “I’ve been looking for you,” I say, announcing my presence.

 

She turns around, away from the beautiful night sky that you can only see from the rooftops of the Capitol, to look at me, and she’s beaming like I’m just as beautiful as the stars and, once again, the irony of the cruel universe is not lost on me.

 

It’s not even really about her. It’s just… the idea of her. The fact that I could seem to fit so perfectly with _anyone_ really, and yet it’s not them. And I’ll never meet them. It just feels like a trick of fate.

 

“Well, I guess you found me,” she says with that trademark Kara smile of humble humor.

 

“Yes.” I immediately adjust my walk for the remaining steps, adding a little more purpose and sway in my hips. It’s a habit practically ingrained in me after living in the Luthor household: always appear graceful, composed, and powerful in front of others. “I wanted to apologize for causing all that awkwardness in the interview. I didn’t even think about what it would mean for you when I answered. I just… talked. I’m so sorry to have put you in that position.” I can feel the blush begin to flush my cheeks. Instinctually, and against all my Luthor training, I dip my head down in embarrassment. “And thank you, for coming to my defense anyways.” I guess the Luthor training never prepared me to actually thank anyone for being _nice_ to me.

 

“Lena, there’s no need for any of that,” she says with the equally embarrassed smile and the crinkle of her nose that always seems to accompany it. “You don’t need to apologize because you didn’t put me in any awkward positions.” She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, more as a nervous tick than any real necessity. “And you certainly don’t need to thank me for what I said. I only said the truth, and you don’t need to thank people for speaking the truth.” She pauses, as if rethinking the statement. “Well, not usually at least.” She reverts back to her seemingly natural state of flustered nervousness. “Not that, uh, this is one of those – erm – times, of course!”

 

I can’t repress the small smile that rises to my face at how ridiculous she sounds. “Oh, you don’t need to say those things, Kara,” I say with a flippant wave of my hand, unsure whether to be flattered and believe her or to see past the thinly veiled empty promises.

 

But I want to believe her so much.

 

“But I do,” she says, taking a step closer. And I can’t deny the look in her eyes. So determined, so genuine, and I’d believe her if she said she could go fly or stop time itself. “In fact, I was actually looking for you earlier because I’ve been wanting to say this to you ever since I saw your interview! You said you’d be lucky if it was my name on your wrist, but I’d be just as lucky!” There she goes defending me again. “You’re smart and beautiful.” The second she says beautiful I can feel my heart flutter just a little bit, and I hate my emotions in that moment. I know it’s just a reaction to anybody calling me beautiful, anybody complimenting me really, but I can’t help it. Of course I find the perfect girl – one who already has her own soulmate, mind you – right as we’re both about to die. “And you’re so determined and,” she begins stuttering with excitement, “you’r-you’re adventurous and-and heartfelt and sometimes you’re in pain or afraid, but you never let it show. I can tell that, as much as you think the name of Luthor defines you, it doesn’t. And as much as you think it taints you, that you’re not worth it, you are. You are worth it all.”

 

And there it is: The Luthor instincts _finally_ kicking in. The feeling of safety and warmth disappears like the horrible nuclear warhead that destroyed District 13 in a matter of moments, twisted into nothing more than ashy remains, exposed for everyone else to look at. The same shaky feeling of panic I’m used to with everyone else returns, but with them it’s because I know they’re judging me, talking behind my back. With her, she looks at me and she’s not judging me at all. She’s looking at me with all the love in the world and, when she looks at me like that, she sees too much. She sees me.

 

And I don’t like it one bit.

 

I feel my entire body steel up as I take a step back, attempting to put any sort of space between us. “Thanks,” I respond politely, but emotionless. Changing the tone of the conversation back to safer warnings, I laugh and tease Kara a bit. “Won’t your soulmate disapprove of you throwing around all these compliments to another woman?”

 

“I don’t think so,” she says with shining eyes.

 

“Um, right, of course.” Of course Kara Danvers’ soulmate wouldn’t be jealous or anything as petty as that. She has to deserve Kara after all, they’d probably have to be just as pure and wholesome as her.

 

A silence passes between us, not quite awkward but also not quite comfortable, before she speaks up again. “So, our last night, huh?” she muses less to me and more to the stars.

 

I suck in a deep breath before turning towards the edge of the balcony, leaning against the cold metal beside her. “Yeah.”

 

“I’m scared,” she confesses. I can’t help but look over at her in surprise. I figured she’d ask me a question like how I’m feeling or whether or not I’m scared – both ridiculous questions because of course I’m scared, any sane human being would be scared – and I’d have to answer them, even though I don’t want to (because Luthors don’t admit they’re scared). Instead, she opens up to me of all things. It’s like, she knows exactly what to say to me. And she’s not even thinking about it, not even really considering me when she talks, she’s just… her, and it’s already exactly what I need.

 

“I knew what I was getting into when I volunteered,” she continues, unaware of the unspoken miracle that just occurred. “I could die. I basically came here to die. But knowing that, doesn’t stop me from being afraid anyways.” She takes a wistful breath and my hand itches to reach out and just… cover her own. Protect her in any way I can. But I don’t. And I miss the opportunity as she departs from the rail, turning away from me to rant to the sky in frustration. “But it’s more than that, I’m afraid that I won’t be able to protect the people I want to protect in there. And what I said out there, in the interview, about my soulmate understanding and forgiving me. I’m afraid she won’t. I’m afraid she’s gonna hate me for leaving her alone.” She turns back and looks at me with those sea-blue eyes, usually calm and bright, now stormy and tumultuous. “I’m afraid to leave her alone.”

 

And something inside me just _breaks._ Because she’s Kara. She’s the living embodiment of sunshine and happiness. The first time she met me she greeted me with a smile and genuine enthusiasm. She won’t even kill anyone in a killing game. She deserves the world and to see her in pain… to see her like this.

 

Without a second thought I immediately move to wrap my arms around her. And all of my Luthor training fades away as our two bodies fade into each other. She wraps her arms around me, her head falling almost defeated on my shoulder.

 

“In the middle of hell on Earth, you’re still more worried about saving as many people as possible than you are about saving yourself,” I mutter into her ear with a soft chuckle. “You’re something else Kara Danvers.”

 

We stay pulled almost close just a little while longer before she pulls away just enough to look me in the eyes. “If you were her, would you hate me for leaving?”

 

I worry for a moment about what to say, but eventually just settle on the truth. “I’d be sad. I’d even be mad for a little while.” She seems to droop just a little bit at the words. “But then I’d remember how proud I was of you.” And then, there she is. Head rising up a little bit, like an eager puppy dog who hears the sound of their human’s footsteps coming. “Volunteering for that little girl? It’s downright heroic. And it’s exactly like you,” I say, a small, irrepressible smile flooding my face. “In this shitty world where kids murder kids and brother’s go insane and the government just lets people die, you still tried against all odds to make the world a better place. So yes, I’d be sad. But I’d never change it because I’d never want to change the things that make you special. You don’t let fear define you. You don’t let anybody change you.”

 

What I don’t say is that it’s one of the reasons why I love her as a friend. And I don’t have to. Because she’s still beaming at me so hard and so bright someone might look out and think it was the sun shining.

 

“Thank you,” she replies happily.

 

And if this confirms anything, it’s that the universe is cruel. But also, that if I can be here for Kara, if I can make someone like her feel better, maybe I’m not worthless despite it all, despite however cruel the world is or how much it’s against me.

 

I turn back to the balcony, unable to look her in the eye for what I’m about to say. She seems to catch onto my mood and follows my lead, leaning back against the balcony like before.

 

“I’m scared too, Kara. If that helps,” I say, gripping the railing just a little too tight to suppress any tremor in my voice. She reaches out and places her hand on mine, interlacing our fingers like it’s nothing even though I couldn’t even build up the nerve to touch her earlier. I don’t say anything more and I don’t need to.

 

“Then I guess we really are in this together, in every way,” she jokes lightly. “Don't be afraid, Lena,” she says more seriously. “I’ll protect you.” She squeezes my hand just a little bit harder and, in that moment, I feel okay.

 

***

 

“Oh hey, Kara!” Winn says, a surprised but bright smile on his face. The automated door to James’ room silently shuts behind him like even making a noise would disrupt whatever haven they’d created in there.

 

“Hey Winn. How, uh, how are you doing?” I ask unsurely. It feels like a stupid question – his soulmate is going into the Games tomorrow, he’s certainly not feeling chipper and dandy – but I feel like avoiding the question doesn’t help much either.

 

“Um, I’m doing about as well as anyone in my position can be.” He lifts his arm as if rubbing his hand against the side of his neck will somehow diminish his nervousness. The emphatic nod I give feels like a measly response to how much I understand exactly what he means, but nothing I could do or say really seems to articulate how much I “get it.”

 

The position we’ve been put in sucks, watching the people we love unselfishly, unreasonably, and endlessly get thrown in a fighting ring to die. We’ve both been angry, been pissed at the games and the stupid Capitol, but now that the anger is gone all we have left is the love we have for those people. And we have to accept the awful position we’ve been put into for what it is and do what we can to make it better. We have to be as okay as we can be.

 

“Yeah, um, hey, do you think you could maybe walk with me to the kitchen?” he asks as he slides both hands into his pockets, shoulders hunched and knees stiff with discomfort. “I was gonna grab some food for James and I so that we could stay in for the night, but he has a huge appetite. I’m not sure I’ll be able to carry it all by myself,” he says with a boyish grin that I could see James falling for in seconds.

 

“Yeah, of course.”

 

The two of us walk in relative silence down the hall before, at some arbitrary corner, Winn begins to talk. His face is steeled, not in a fearsome way, but with an inner-strength so strong it reflects on the outside. “So Kara, you’ve met your soulmate?”

 

A huge grin immediately breaks out on my face as I think about Lena. “Yeah, gosh, she’s amazing.” I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose out of excited habit.

 

“They really are,” he agrees. “People who don’t have soulmates just don’t understand it. I don’t mean to y’know, sound like some higher than thou jerk, but being with your soulmate is something else. I still can’t describe it.”

 

“It’s like...” I think about how I could ever describe it. It’s like you see them and you can’t help but smile, but that doesn’t really capture the feeling. I could say the things about puppies. It’s like, even the thought of being away from them or them being sad hurts you and nothing else can brighten your day until you see them and know they’re okay. But that’s not right either. Something so happy should never be described in such sad terms. It just diminishes the feeling. It’s like watching a thousand butterflies be released and fly, but that doesn’t really make sense and everything seems to make sense when you’re around them. “I guess you’re right.” I give up, defeated in ever trying to articulate what it’s truly like, “It is indescribable.”

 

“Exactly. It just is… wonderful!” The two of us share a conspiratorial grin, the kind that can only be shared by old friends with a thousand inside jokes.

 

And then, the joke dies under the weight of reality. “That’s why I’m so afraid for James to leave.” He stops walking and he looks me dead in the eye. “You have to protect him in there,” he begs. “I know that you’re all supposed to kill each other in there. I get that. But for as long as you can, you have to look out for him in that arena. He’s the kind of _idiot_ who’ll take the shirt off of his back, run into danger, just to save others.” He almost laughs when he says idiot, like he can’t quite tell if it’s endearingly funny or just infuriating. “I love him for it. It’s one of the best things about him and the reason we met, but in there? They aren’t the average schoolyard bullies who’ll deliver a couple kicks or throw your head in the toilet.” His voice lowers to a whisper as if someone were listening or this was somehow a secret. “They’re the kind of people who’ll kill him without a second thought. Somebody has to look out for him in there and… it can’t be me this time.” He starts choking up, doing his best to power through and say his piece before the tears springing from his eyes fall without end. “I can’t,” he takes a deep breath to quell the tears, “imagine life without him.”

 

I think about what will happen, if it comes down to just Lena, James, and I. What would I do then? Who would I protect? Or what if Lena and James were both in danger at the same time? Who would I save?

 

But then, it doesn’t matter. I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. I’ll save both of them, somehow. I won’t let James die.

 

“Okay, Winn,” I say, standing akimbo trying to summon any fallacy of strength and power to assuage him. “I’ll do it.”

 

And the look he gives me makes it all worth it.  


***

 

“Alex?” I call out hesitantly as the automated door to my room opens.

 

“Kara!” Her head shoots up like a weed from the ground and I wonder if she’ll blossom into a beautiful flower when I leave or just wither under the cold weather of an impending snow storm.

 

I hadn’t thought too much about it before, mostly because I wasn’t ready to face it. She’s always been the strongest, most amazing person in my life. But she’s always been strong for me, protected me. Will she be okay; will she continue to thrive without me? Or am I about to be her snowstorm?

 

She immediately gets up and goes to envelop me in her arms. “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you.”

 

“Nowhere as important as being with you right now,” I reply, squeezing just a little tighter and hoping she understands.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of this actually related to my own personal experience, somehow. Obviously not the actual situation but some of the emotions. When Lena backed away because Kara was getting too close I've totally felt that, or the heartbreak at seeing someone as pure as Kara tainted with fear. So I hope those moments feel truthful and not out of character. I don't know, I just mention it cause I think it's cool.
> 
> I just love this chapter! Get ready for the games... (took us long enough to get there, huh?)
> 
> A Real Life Love Story: I've told about them before, the couple who is older and still calls each other the love of their respective life. Here's how they met: They met in high school and basically never talked. He was a major nerd. I think she was off getting high and drunk a lot. They didn't talk. Years and years later they met at AA. Now, you can't date anyone from AA until you get sober. It's like an AA rule. So they got sober for each other. And isn't that just the sweetest thing you've ever heard?


	11. Better Angels, Stronger Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let the Games begin... sorry guys, I know none of us wanted a killing game to happen but it is kind of the main conflict of this story so, and also how I advertised it so y'all knew what you were getting into... Sorry!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So guys, if you want an idea of what the arena looks like, the games take place in an amusement park because I thought it'd be an interesting and original location. So these games are based off of Disneyland. Picture of the map below:
> 
> http://www.disneydreamer.com/disneyland/map04.htm
> 
> S/O to: Jesi_Ki_Kage for inspiring a lot of the upcoming plot and changing the direction of this story to make it better.  
> Queen48 for sharing her own similar experience. That's what reading and writing is all for, sharing experiences.  
> And literally all of you. Every comment, every read, every kudos brightens my day!

Better Angels, Stronger Demons

 

I’ve always been far more interested in chemistry and physics than biology. I like the precision and innovation, the free experimentation, of them. My freshman year biology class was pretty boring for me, but there is one lesson I vividly remember.

 

I had been sitting at the front of the class – it was before I was forced to the back to avoid the balls of paper reading ‘murderess’ and ‘bitch’ from being thrown at my head – zoning in and out as my teacher, Ms. Bailey, mentioned the survival instinct.

 

In almost every organism there is an instinct to survive. When something is afraid or in pain its body changes. People have been reported to have lifted rubble much heavier than they should be able to life just because of pure adrenaline. A person who may normally pause and mourn the pain of a stubbed toe can ignore the pain of a gunshot wound when their life is in peril. I thought it was incredible. It’s the entire reason we’ve survived for generations. We’ve even survived the end of the world, creating PanNational in its place. All of the authors we read in Literature Class ponder the question of why we’re here, why we’re alive, but the answer is simple: We want to live. We just do.

 

And now, it’s just a curse. Because here I am, still alive despite it all. My father is gone. My brother’s insane. All of my friends abandoned me. My mother still can’t even tell me she loves me. My soulmate would be better off without me. And I’m still here. And in those games, I’ll still be fighting. Even though I know it’d be better if I just sat down and let someone kill me. I don’t deserve to win. Kara or Jax or that little girl from District 6 who hasn’t even lived yet deserves to win. And the longer I stay alive the more it hurts them.

 

And I keep telling myself that, but while I do it’s like the other half of my brain starts listing survival techniques and strategies to outsmart other people. I don’t know if it’s just not the Luthor way to back down or if it’s something in me, my own stubbornness, that's stopping me, but for better or worse, my survival instinct remains intact.

 

I just hope that maybe it’s keeping me alive for a reason. Some reason other than just... because.

 

I’m a scientist, or I would be if I had been given the opportunity to live long enough. So I don’t believe in destiny or fate or all that bullshit. But if I might die soon, despite my self-preservation instincts valiant attempts, maybe I shouldn’t rule anything out. Maybe I’m keeping myself alive for a reason. Maybe I’ll make a difference, save someone’s life in there. And that’s why I’m alive.

 

That’s all I can hope for now I guess.

 

I guess shitty circumstances really can push you towards anything, even believing in all that fate/destiny bullshit.

 

“There’s only so much I can do from out here, Luthor. And with your last name?” Maxwell chuckles. “Well, I probably won’t be doing much of anything. No sponsors are dumb enough to attach their names to the sister of the Capitol’s number one enemy. So once you’re in there, it’s all on you.”

 

“Just another way Lex fucked me over,” I mumble under my breath.

 

Lord only responds with a ‘Yeah, the world is fucked but what are you gonna do but live in it?’ look before continuing. “The beginning is a fuckin’ massacre, plain and simple. Some people just run from the slaughterhouse, but it puts them at a severe disadvantage later. They won’t have any food, water, weapons, or other Capitol goodies so most of them survive for nothing. So when the Games begin, you need to run so hard you’re afraid your fucking bones might break, understand?” I nod. “Plus, thanks to your little stunt at the scoring, they’ll probably leave a little gift for you in there.”

 

“Good thing I’ve always been a better sprinter than long distance runner,” I say, suppressing the tremor in my voice.

 

“Good until you need to outrun another contestant for miles on end,” Max retorts.

 

“Well aren’t you a ball of fucking sunshine and encouragement,” I bite back.

 

“That shit doesn’t win you the games. Fuck luck. Fuck positive reinforcement and appealing to ‘better angels’,” he sneers. “You don’t need that shit, Lena. Demons are the only ones who get shit done.”

 

“You really know how to flatter a girl, Lord.” I wish his comment didn’t hurt as much as it does.

 

“Well then, it’s a good thing I’ve never flashed you my patented panty-dropping smile,” he teases with the boyish charm that must actually get some girls hot and bothered.

 

“Still a lesbian,” I scoff. And, as scary as everything happening is, at least this moment feels normal. I’ve never liked Max and it’s likely I’ll never thank him, even if he helps save my life in those games, but in this moment I’d almost consider thanking him for these few seconds where we’re just joking, as though this was just a normal conversation in District 3 between frenemies, and not the last seconds before the beginning of the end.

 

He laughs for a few seconds before reality returns and his solemn darkness returns. “Remember, nobody in there is your friend. They are all your enemies.”

 

“And Kara and Jax?” I respond with an eyebrow raise.

 

“Strategically timed enemies,” he responds like the know-it-all piece of shit he is. “Use them until their usefulness has worn out. Then, they’re your enemies again. If it came down to the two of you, neither of them would hesitate to kill you.”

 

“Kara would.” There’s no point arguing with him. And yet…

 

“You look out for her,” Max warns. “I’ve been digging into all the contestants and I don’t know what it is yet, but there’s something that doesn’t add up about her. That makes her dangerous.”

 

“Wow, something the great Maxwell Lord doesn’t know, it _must_ be sinister,” I mock, desperately searching for some respite from the sick feeling in my stomach and the shaking nervousness I’m just barely holding back.

 

“People hide things for a reason, and it’s not because they’re secretly dog lovers,” Max responds.

 

I only get to snort before the blare of a high-pitched male voice unlike how I imagined my death count would sound begins calling out, “10!”

 

I dig my nails into my clenched fists, hoping that the pain will override the fear ping-ponging through my body.

 

“Remember, don’t take any unnecessary risks out there.”

 

“9!”

 

No unnecessary risks. Run like hell. Look for a water source. Don't let anything phase you out there. You can’t be taken aback by the spectacle. You just have to run.

 

“Let other people do the heavy lifting and risk their skins.”

 

And find Kara.

 

“8!”

 

The platform begins rising enough to start cutting off parts of Max’s body. Dread builds inside me as more and more of him disappears.

 

“I’m rooting for you out there, kid,” he says, sounding genuine for maybe the first time in his smug life. And I can’t believe that it’s this bastard’s face that I’m going to see last before I go into that damned arena.

 

And I can’t believe I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else.

 

“7.”

 

“You wanna remind me why again?” I steel my jaw and put on my best poker face, but the fear in my voice makes up for the fear lacking on my face.

 

“6.”

 

“Because I think you can win. Plus, you’re a bit of a rebel. And I always root for a rebel.” The last thing I see before his face permanently disappears from my view is his stupid fucking wink.

 

My eyes shift upwards to see the arena spreading out before me. All 24 of us are standing in an equidistant circle. The center is empty save for carefully placed supplies and a small hideout building clearly placed by the Gamemakers. All of which means, if you run for it, there’s nowhere to hide. The second somebody with decent aim gets bow, everybody could be mowed down in moments.

 

“5.”

 

Nothing else about the environment around us seems familiar. All of it is manmade. There’s some greenery here or there, like the grass filling up the center of the circle or the trees surrounding us, but past that it’s clear there won’t be much else. Or, it’ll be sparse. Directly to my lift is a gigantic castle. Once a pink, now faded to a grey dusty dinge as though it has been around for decades without being touched. The castle’s archway entrance is at least two humans high and the castle itself is bigger and more extravagant than any other building I’ve seen, either in District 3 or the Capitol, despite the fact that a good half of it has clearly crumbled down beside it. The curves and the angles are all wrong for the Capitol’s clean-cut, functional design-style.

 

Wherever we are, I don’t think it’s just another Capitol simulation, but somewhere outside of PanNational itself. We’re standing in the ruins outside of it all, before all the bombs dropped and the world turned to shit.

 

“4.”

 

A few other major landmarks are clear even from here. There are two mountains, both too small to be natural, on opposite sides of the castle not too far away, but they’re close enough I imagine others will beat me to them so they wouldn’t be a safe location to run to. Plus, they’re big enough and could be used as a clear fortress. Both will be targeted within the first three days.

 

There are a couple other smaller buildings near us that would be good for temporary cover if I need to fight my way out of anything. If I run into the circle and just continue on straight, I’ll be headed towards the mountains and then who knows what past that. If I run into the circle and turn back from the way, I came I’ll head towards the smaller buildings. But once the Careers take this location after the slaughter, and they will, they’ll come through and rampage through every building killing any survivors.

 

Neither direction is really better than the other. So I guess it just comes down to wherever circumstances drive me.

 

“3.”

 

At that moment Kara catches my eye. Thankfully, she’s wearing something a bit more practical than her earlier ‘Supersuit.’ Other than the red “S” crest still at the center of her outfit, she’s in all black.

 

She looks at me warily but sends me a reassuring smile anyways. I’m fucking terrified, but something about her smile makes my heartbeat slow just a little closer to a normal pace.

 

“2.”

 

She nods, as if to say, “I’ve got your back.”

 

Closing my eyes, I turn back to the center and bend my knees, readying to run.

 

“1.”

 

***

 

Kara POV

 

The second the countdown ends everybody starts running off of their platform. A couple strays go off running in the other direction, but 19 others go running straight for the goody-filled center.

 

I use just enough super speed to be a step faster than everyone else, but not conspicuously so, as we all race towards the center. Lucky for me, most of the really dangerous competitors headed straight towards the clear weapons. Although everyone else is really just running to grab _something_ before they leave, just like me.

 

I reach the center a step before everyone else and grab the nearest bag, praying there are good supplies in it. Another heartbeat later and three more people are at the center. One of them is clearly just planning to grab a bag and leave, but the other two are Careers.

 

The first one is Hunter Zolomon, sliding on a pair of brass knuckles to both hands as if he has all the time in the world. The pair seems to fit his hand perfectly so they’re obviously his weapon of choice. The second Career is Carrie Cutter, who is far less leisurely with her bow and arrow.

 

More people start bearing down on the center and it occurs to me that I should probably run and get out of here before I become a target. I could handle anything they throw at me, but it would be a little suspicious if I sidestep fast enough to avoid an arrow or if an ax bounces harmlessly off of my skin. Hiding my abilities won’t be easy if I’m attacked head-on, and revealing them could put everybody in this arena or back in District 12 at risk.

 

Almost mechanically I begin running away from the center as I hear the whizzing of an arrow. I turn back and watch as the arrow slices through the air and heads straight for a guy still running towards the center. He can see it coming straight for him, but there’s no time to react. Right before the arrow pierces his skull with stunning force, the expression on his face changes from determination to absolute terror. When the arrow strikes it sounds no louder than a finger flicking a hard surface.

 

There’s barely any blood, just a trickle coming from the clear wound. It’s as if the arrow is trying to stop any blood from coming out, staunching the flow of blood to save his life. But he’s already dead.

 

I’m not afraid of blood, or even a really awful wound. My mother was a doctor after all. I’ve seen some awful bruises. But I’ve never seen somebody die before. I’ve never seen somebody’s face watch as they die. I’ve never seen a face tight with fear suddenly slacken.

 

It’s sickening.

 

And I could have stopped it. If I could have used my abilities. But I didn’t, hiding behind some excuse that it endangers Lena or James or Alex or Eliza if the Capitol finds out.

 

But was it worth his life? Was it worth Curtis’s life?

 

And, for a moment, I have this strange out-of-body experience as though I can see it all: the battlefield above. Because that’s what it is now. A battlefield. Half of the contestants are still running to the center while a lucky few are spared from the slaughter as they run away. Cutter is aiming another arrow, the scene playing out in slow motion, at another contestant, Will. And unlike Curtis, he doesn’t even see it coming.

 

I wonder if it’s better or worse to know you’re going to die. Maybe it’s better not to know, just die in ignorant bliss.

 

I look down at his face, expecting to see less fear than Curtis, just something to confirm that maybe dying without knowing is better. But their faces look the same: an expressionless slack with an aura of serenity unbefitting for the moment.

 

I guess it doesn’t matter in death.

 

I look down at the center. Zolomon has the brass knuckles on now and any sluggishness is gone from his body, replaced with a focused ferocity equal to that of a lion stalking its prey.

 

Unable to look any longer, I turn my attention to James grabbing a bag. If he just keeps running the direction he’s going he should make it out home-free with Zolomon and Cutter occupied with other contestants.

 

It feels wrong to be relieved that others will probably die so that James can live.

 

Trying to escape my own thoughts, I scan the field for Lena who has reached the center.

 

_Just keep your eye on Lena and follow her out._

 

She crouches down near a specific bag and begins looking around, constantly looking over her should for any sign of other tributes. It’s like she’s looking for something specific as she scours the bags with the desperateness of a person stranded in the desert for a month, seeking water.

 

And that’s when I see him. I see what she doesn’t. She was so concerned with people coming up behind her for the easy kill she failed to look up ahead of her. The guy from District 5, George.

 

I immediately start running to her. I’m not too far away. With just a little help from my super speed I’ll make it to her without arousing suspicion. I’ll do what I came here to do, the one thing I can do that might make all of this awful death and destruction worth it.

 

And then, halfway to her, I hear it. “AHHHH!” A high-pitched scream too low to be a girl but too high to be a man’s. My eyes follow the scream and I see it. Billy. He’s only 13 years old, the youngest in our games. His leg is bent at an angle that should never be achieved by a healthy human body. Casting a shadow bigger than Billy’s skinny body is Zolomon with a grin so chilling I can feel the goosebumps pop up on my arms.

 

Billy struggles to crawl back on the backs of his grass-stained elbows, but every move he makes is absolute agony for him. You can see it in the stretch of his face, lines appearing that are new to him unlike the smile lines he’s used to. If I ran to him right now, I could probably stop Zolomon before he beats him to death.

 

But then Lena would be alone. There’s no way I’d reach her in time. Even if she noticed him, towering over her, she wouldn’t have enough time to run away by now. She might be able to fight him off, but I doubt it. When she wins these games, it will be because of her mind not her brute force and fighting skills. I saw her over at the fighting stations. She was average at best, but against the guy from District 5 who has the better position in the fight, surprise, and a bigger stature, her odds aren’t good.

 

But if I run to her, Billy will surely die.

 

And if I do nothing, they both will.

 

Before my mind permanently paralyzes me, I close off all my other senses and just allow my body to take off in any direction.

 

When I open my eyes, I’m three steps away from Lena.

 

“Lena, look out!” I scream. Her head shoots up and she sees the District 5 tribute, George, as he goes to swing his sword in a wide arc that would cut across her chest. With an extra burst of speed, I grab his hand with my own and stop his sword only inches away from Lena’s body.

 

I quickly grab onto his wrist with my other hand, forcing him into the wrist lock Lucy taught me when we were 13 years old and a couple of bullies had come after me for my accent when I was still getting used to the earthly tongue. He drops the sword instantly as it clatters onto the ground near Lena.

 

Letting go of his wrist, he stumbles back and grasps it out of instinct.

 

And then I hear it. Another scream from the same voice. Billy. My eyes turn to where I last saw him, only to see Zolomon land the killing punch, one that, even with my super speed, I couldn’t stop at this point.

 

FUDGE!

 

I turn back to the District 5 tribute and I land a clean punch across the right side of his face, causing him to fall to the ground like a Jenga tower in one fell swoop.

 

“Oh my god, Kara,” Lena breathes out.

 

And then, it hits me. What I’ve done. He’s knocked out and he won’t be waking up for a while. He’s stuck in the middle of a killing zone and I left him defenseless. If I had just, punched him with less force he would’ve stumbled back far enough for Lena and I to run and he wouldn’t be unable to move. But then Billy died, and I hit him too hard.

 

And now I’ll be responsible for two people’s deaths.

 

It only then occurs to me how much George’s face resembles Curtis’s. Resembles Will’s. Resembles Billy’s. Like he’s already dead.

 

“Kara, c’mon we have to go!” Lena yells, slipping her hand in mine with a forceful pull that would’ve made me lose my balance if I were just a normal human.

 

“I-We can’t, we have to bring him with us.” I want to sound demanding and powerful, but the fear in my voice seeps through anyways.

 

“Kara, c’mon, he just tried to kill me and you want to save him! We have to leave him. We have to go before one of the Careers sees us.” Her voice lowers ominously, “There won’t be any escaping them.”

 

With a vehement shake of my head, more for my sake than hers, I let out a whimper as I bend down and go to pick him up. He weighs almost nothing to me after all.

 

“Okay let’s go,” I say, the strength and determination returning to my voice. I immediately start running, carrying him over my shoulder and praying that we don’t catch too much attention.

 

“Kara, you can’t carry him all the way. He’ll start slowing you down eventually!” Lena yells, trying to be loud enough so I hear her but quiet enough to not draw attention from the others.

 

“I’m not going to,” I grunt back. “Just outside of these borders so he’s not a dead man walking.”

 

“Kara!”

 

I run just a little bit faster as if to prove to her I can do it, to say, ‘I will carry him. You won’t stop me. And we will get out of here unharmed.’

 

***

 

Lena POV

 

Having dropped the District 5 tribute at least outside of the killing ground, I refuse to be around him when he wakes up, the two of us hole up in a building just past one of the fake mountains. I know we can’t stay here for long. It’s a clear building after all. Other tributes will stumble upon here sooner rather than later and it won’t be safe for more than an hour or two, but Kara needed a break.

 

I was a few steps behind her the whole time we ran and I could see her start to fall apart, slowly. Every once in a while her hand would move to swipe across her face and her shoulders began shaking a couple minutes after we put down the guy from District 5. And now that we’re stopped, I can see it in full.

 

Tears are raining down her face like a fast-flowing river. I tried to touch her, but she just started wailing, and not out of sadness but like an alarm telling me to get away. The second I stopped touching her, she returned to her silent sobs.

 

Something happened out there. Something I don’t know and something I can’t fix. Now it’s effecting Kara. It’s almost like she’s shut down. And she’s a machine I don’t know how to fix.

 

My fingers itch to go and check the full contents of the bag I picked up, but I know I need to be next to Kara right now. She may not want me to touch her, but at least I can be there for her. When she… turns back on, I guess. I’ll be by her side. We may not have time to spare, but that doesn’t mean I’m losing my humanity.

 

The two of us sit there, a few feet apart, for at least 15 minutes. I go in and out of thought between Kara and planning out strategies and planting traps based on the environment I’ve seen so far. Kara’s mind… I couldn’t really begin to fathom what’s going on in there.

 

Finally, her quieting begins to calm down enough for her to stutter out a breathy, tear-injected sentence, “It. It was so-so horrible out there.”

 

Should I try to touch her again? Should I just say something? What in the world should I say? I’ve never really had to comfort somebody before. The only time Lex would ever comfort me was after I was done crying, hours later, when he’d come in and make a joke and we’d go outside and play pretending that nothing had happened.

 

But I can’t just pretend like nothing happened or that nothing is wrong here.

 

Finally, I settle on just asking her a question, praying to god I’m not fucking up. “What happened?”

 

“A-a little boy. I could have saved him,” she says in broken up sentences.

 

“Kara, is that what this- you can’t save everyone. And I’m sure you did everything you could. It was… it was horrible out there,” I admit. “You did what you could, but we all have to survive.”

 

“No, you. You don’t get it. I _could_ have done something,” the sadness in her voice changes to anger. A fury. But not at the person who killed him. At herself. “I was just too… scared.”

 

“Hey, it’s scary out there. I’m scared. It’s okay to be scared,” I say, scooching closer to her until our bodies are only inches apart.

 

Another minute passes before she says anything. “I chose you. I could’ve saved him. Or I could’ve saved you.”

 

And god it feels so fucking wrong. It feels wrong to smile when a little boy has died. When others have just died out on that field. But I smile, just a little bit, when she says she chose me. Because she cares about me. She thinks I’m worth it. She chose me. She may be the first person in my life whose chosen me.

 

And then. Then I hate her a little bit. Because this is the opposite of what I wanted. I didn’t want to live so that others would die. I wanted to live to help, so maybe other people could live. That little boy deserved to live and here I am, alive while he’s dead. He was one of the younger ones in our games. 13. Maybe 12. He hasn’t even lived yet whereas it feels like I’ve lived twice over: a life of happiness and then a life of shame and being outcast.

 

Here I am, still kicking. Lena Luthor. Life destroyer. A curse to everyone.

 

“And that’s not right,” she insists. Fuck, I guess even Kara’s realizing she made the wrong decision. Maybe she’s realizing that I’m not worth it after all. I almost want to laugh just to release some of the bitterness swelling up in me. “I’m not a God. I don’t deserve to choose who live and who –” her voices breaks off. “dies,” she whispers, sounding like a small child.

 

She looks back over at me in an instant. “Not that I regret saving you. Of course I don’t. You’re the most important thing out there to me. I just… regret letting him die.”

 

I’m the most important thing out here to her? Me? Someone as good and caring and wonderful as her cares about me more than everyone else?

 

Realizing that Kara needs me to respond more than I need to dwell on what this means for me, I immediately go to answer her. “You didn’t let him die. Somebody else killed him. You may think that you had a choice, that you let him die, but you didn’t swing that axe. You told me earlier that killing in here, it isn’t black and white. The choice wasn’t yours. If anything, your choices have been about saving people’s lives. It’s only been an hour, maybe two, and you've already saved two people, Kara. _Those_ are your choices. _Those_ are what you have control of. And _those_ are who you are.”

 

She nods, still looking a little out of it and like maybe she doesn’t entirely believe me, but at least that she’s listening and absorbing. And over time, she might start to believe me just like I believe in her.

 

“Do you, do you think you can just hold me for a second.” She doesn’t look at me when she asks, like she’s too embarrassed. “I-I promise I won’t scream this time. It’s just… sometimes I get a little overwhelmed in intense situations and everything just becomes too much. But I’m better now and it would just help if-if you could do that.” She glances back up at me, hopeful but humiliated.

 

“Of course.” She slides over the few inches and just lays down against my right shoulder, head falling easily into my neck as my arm wraps around shoulders, giving her upper arm a tight squeeze.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I know I also wanted a Cat Grant pep talk scene, but I didn't really have anything plot-important or clever and heartfelt to say, so just assume Cat Grant gave one of her Cat-esque talks to Kara.
> 
> Real Life Love Story: My parents' 30 year anniversary was the other day. They fight all the time and get frustrated, but they also still love each other and are still here, waiting at home every night, to hear about each others' days. So not every second of being in love is perfect, but you choose to stay together anyways and you love each other irregardless.
> 
> Also, I finally outlined what the rest of this story is going to look like. (I've been avoiding it). So, hopefully things will be more cohesive and maybe updates will be sooner? Idk tbh.


	12. You Get a Soulmate, You Get a Soulmate, Everybody Gets a Soulmate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,  
> This one goes out to bs13 who writes "Half Melted M&M's" which is a Proposal-Style fic that is pretty well-fleshed out and a fun read. I read their fic by chance and then I realized they had been reading mine as well. And I thought it was great and it made me so happy that the two of us were able to read each other's stories and fangirl over each other! So to all of my readers who are writers themselves, keep it up!
> 
> I want to reemphasize for clarity sake: THIS CHAPTER WILL BE ALEX'S POV

**Because it has been a month, I am going to do another RECAP to remind you what’s been happening to those who forgot.** Lena gets reaped and Kara volunteers to protect her (C1). Cat Grant becomes her mentor (C2). She meets Lena, and although Lena initially doesn’t trust her they get along. Unfortunately, Lena doesn’t know Kara is her soulmate (C3). Kara and Lena have a moral debate about killing - Kara against it and Lena for it in the case of the Hunger Games – which ultimately brings the two closer together (C5). Kara tells Lena about Krypton (as if it were a fictional story) and Lena about Lex (C6). She tells Cat she’s an alien and the two collude for Kara to survive (C8). In an interview Lena admits she hasn’t met her soulmate and hints that she thinks she’s not worthy of Kara. Kara, afterwards, reassures Lena that she is worthy of love and a soulmate (C9). The two admit that they’re both scared to each other in a touching moment. Winn asks Kara to protect James, if she can (C10). The Games begin. And Kara has to confront the reality that she may have superpowers, but staying hidden means she can’t use them. And although she could save people’s lives, she can’t if she wants to keep her secret identity. She basically falls apart in Lena’s arms, stuck with the fact that she has basically let people die.

**Alex POV**

 

When I was eight years old a little girl with dark brown hair and the most stunning green eyes hobbled into my house, leaning against a guilty-looking boy with brown, puppy-dog-eyes. Hidden behind the stair banisters that, despite the clear spaces between them, made me invisible (at least to my 5-year-old mind), I watched them walk in and scream for a doctor.

 

My mom came sweeping into the room and the little boy helped the girl over to the chair where my mom looked at the big, bloody bruise on the girl’s leg. I later found out she had fallen down the stairs (pushed by her father in a surge of anger after finding out her mother had left him).

 

Mom patched the girl up and made her come back every day for two weeks to check on her. On the 10th day the girl called me saw me behind that banister, despite my invisibility, and called me down. She introduced herself as Lucy.

 

Three weeks later she and Mike were my best friends and I actively started pestering my mother to let me sit in when she’d be treating patients because I wanted to learn. She had saved someone’s life, and in turn changed mine forever. I wanted to do the same for other people.

 

I promised myself that I’d do everything in my power to make other people’s lives better, to fix and heal them.

 

And then Kara came.

 

She was unconscious, carried in the arms of The District Walker. She looked pale and small, but otherwise no worse for wear. We gave her food and water and a bed. She was the first patient mom let me work on, probably because she knew I couldn’t really fuck up caring for Kara as long as sunlight was coming through the window. It was fun at first, having her there. I got my first patient and I got to hear all of Clark’s stories.

 

In a day or two she was back at peak physical health and I was ready to say wave goodbye to my very first patient after their successful treatment. Except, she never left.

 

Instead, my parents sat me down and told me I was getting a new sister. She seemed sort of quiet and a little bit sad, not really the kind of person I’d want as a sister, but it was fine. I was relatively happy with the arrangement.

 

A week later, I decided that maybe I wouldn’t heal _everyone._ Some exceptions were just necessary. For instance, Kara would be an exception.

 

Maybe it was naïve of me, but I didn’t think anything would change. I was still going to be mom and dad’s priority (I was their biological kid after all, how could they put her above me?), Lucy and Mike were still gonna come over and play, and life would go on. Boy was I wrong.

 

In one week it felt like Kara had taken over my entire life. I would wake up and there she was on the other side of my room, taking up the space that once had my bookshelf, forcing my books to becoming refugees (the irony did not hit me until much later that she and my books had a lot in common). We’d get dressed (one of us having to awkwardly duck out into the bathroom to maintain some sense of privacy, even though privacy had gone out the window the second she’d heard me snore and I saw her drool on the pillow that first morning) and race downstairs. Instead of the typical breakfast conversation I’d share with my parents, pouring my bowl of cereal as mom read the paper and dad made the coffee, the two of them would be so concerned with Kara they’d hardly say hello to me. The air would be filled with polite questions and polite answers that seemed to emphasize how out of place everything was.

 

The bus would come and Kara would sit next to me. She’d always take the window seat, hungry to look out the window and see the grey world outside that had bored me years ago, and I would sit on the outside talking to Lucy across the aisle. And it really wouldn’t be so bad since the two of us would more or less ignore each other on the ride, except that it messed up my dynamic with Lucy and Mike.

 

Before Kara, every day I’d sit next to Lucy and Mike would sit on the seat across from us. Sometimes he’d whine about always being stuck alone, but the two of us would just laugh and whisper in collusion. Eventually, it became more inside-joke than anything that really bothered Mike. And now Kara had messed it up.

 

We’d finally get to school and I’d go back to some sense of normalcy there since we were in different classes, except she’d sit with me in the cafeteria and she’d always act so strangely. It’s like she didn’t even try to blend in and look human, sometimes covering her ears with her hands like everything was just too loud or staring like a freak at the cafeteria sludge like it was a miracle.

 

And after two weeks had passed, grades started coming in. And suddenly my straight A’s were no match for her straight A+’s, which she never had to study for of course because she was already doing physics on Krypton before she came here. My parents congratulated me, but they never felt like anything more than a pity, throw-away ‘good job’, overshadowed by the beaming smiles Kara would get.

 

After that, she even started taking my friends from me. Mike was smitten with her the day he saw her. He’d been trying to befriend her for weeks, and when she finally opened up to him and starting laughing at his stupid, eleven-year-old version of pick-up lines, I lost him.

 

Lucy held out longer, but even she wasn’t immune to Kara’s charms. I was convinced charming people had to be one of her superpowers, and I was the only one immune to it. I was the only one who could see clearly.

 

As the months went by, she would go to sleep and I would stare daggers into her back like, maybe if I stared long enough, I’d pierce her impenetrable Kryptonian skin and she’d fly back wounded to her stupid solar system and far away from me.

 

And then, one night while I was glaring some of my most vicious daggers yet into her back, she rolled over and met my stare, now turned from venomous to shocked. The moonlight streamed through our window in little slits that lit up Kara’s face just enough for me to see her eyes.

 

I fucking hated her eyes. For months. It’s like they existed for the sole purpose of mocking me. Sometimes they’d be alight with excitement and happiness, happiness that came from all the things she’d stolen from me. Or they’d be sad, filled with the thoughts of her past, and she’d manipulate everyone around them! The second her eyes got that droopy, puzzled look my parents would do whatever the hell she wanted, and I’d be second best in my own life. Or sometimes they’d just be confused and full of wonder that made her look like a weirdo, which by association, made me a weirdo.

 

But this was different. The look… it felt real. She stared at me with those relief-filled baby blues and I couldn't help but feel something genuine about the look in them. Something vulnerable and deep.

 

“Thank you, Alex,” she whispered as she looked straight into my eyes, which probably looked something like a canary’s in a coal mine they can sense will collapse soon. “I don’t think I said it yet, but thank you. After, after my home died and my family… ascended, I really didn’t think I’d ever feel at home again.” The sadness that normally infuriated me returned to her eyes. I couldn’t help but still be annoyed with it, the stubborn side of myself refusing to relent and accept that maybe her sadness wasn’t fake or some manipulative tactic.

 

I don’t know if it was the moonlight, so different than that of our red sun, but for the first time I at least _considered_ the possibility of sympathy, of empathy, of her sadness being true.

 

“When I got to Earth, I thought Kal-El was the last of my family. A cousin I barely knew was all I had left.” A single tear trickled from her eye. “But then you took care of me,” she looked back up at me with a small smile. It wasn’t the beaming grin that seemed impossibly positive or the one filled with wonder at a new place, but just a small smile that was only ever for me. “And you let me have a place in your room and in your life. And you gave me a family again. I have Eliza, and David, and a sister now. Not some distant cousin like Kal, but a sister who has my back every step of the way.”

 

The guilt that overcame me was almost heavy enough to drown in. Every word she said seemed to bring in a new wave, eventually forming into its own miniature tsunami in my brain.

 

The whole time I’d been cursing her, wishing she’d get out of my life, and at times wishing she’d die. And now I find out she looked at me like a sister. I was so thankful it was dark out, because if I had been able to see any part of myself in that moment I think I might have vomited out of revulsion.

 

“Thank you, Alex.”

 

There are moments in life we remember. Moments that impact us, that change our way of thinking, and make us realize we are wrong. Most of the time, they’re accompanied by great personal humiliation, but the humility keeps us in check. It keeps us humble. This moment was my first great humiliation.

 

Perhaps for the first time in my life, my legendary stubbornness stepped aside and admitted that perhaps I had been wrong. I had misjudged Kara for all these months out of my own spite and jealousy.

 

She may be the one with glasses, but clearly I was the one who had been blind.

 

“You are welcome. Kara.”

 

In that moment, I promised myself I would be her sister. For real. It’s what she deserved and it’s what I needed. So I made another vow, this time with no exceptions possible: to love and protect her like a sister. Because she was my sister now.

 

And now I’d broken my vow. Watching her through that damn TV monitor that takes up a whole wall, unable to protect Kara as she tears that arena, protecting Lena acting on those same blind, lovesick instincts that I love her for.

 

She’s out there fight not only for her own survival, but Lena’s. And, knowing her, probably James’s too. And in the back of her mind, she knows that if she reveals her powers she could be putting all of District 12 in jeopardy like Clark did for District 13 when he revealed his powers. She’s out there fighting for everyone with a world and a half on her shoulders and I’m stuck out here. Useless. Helpless.

 

Some protector I am.

 

My eyes were torn between looking at the screen and looking anywhere else. Next to me I hear the release of a deep breath before Cat stands up, smooths out her pants, and looks pointedly at me. “Alright, time to get up. Chop, chop.”

 

“Wait, what? Aren’t we going to watch Kara. I don’t, I don’t want to miss anything.”

 

Cat rolls her eyes as if to say, ‘What I say next you should already know, and I want to make it clear I’m wasting my breath due to your ignorance.’ “If you would like to sit here passively watching your sister fight for her life be my guest. But if you want to save her life, I suggest you get up.”

 

Without hesitation, I shoot up out my seat. I have no idea what she’s talking about, but whatever it is I’m ready to help. If she needs me to hack a computer database, I’ll go start studying code. If she wants to sneak me in that arena to get Kara out, I’ll go. I’ll do whatever I need.

 

“First things first. You’ll be needing a dress.”

 

Fuck.

 

***

 

“This is actually her second time on our stage and many of you will recognize her. Let’s give a warm round of applause to the sister of District 12 tribute Kara Danvers, Alex Danvers!”

 

It’s a funny thing, the phrase ‘warm round of applause.’ It’s like saying a friendly round of thunder or an affectionate gunshot. No amount of soothing words actually smooths out the sharp, violent sound.

 

I make my way over to Mxyzptlk with a cordial smile exuding nothing but fake warmth to the sound of the warm applause. “It’s nice to meet you again, with proper introductions this time.” I bite back the grimace threatening on my lips.

 

I’m no actress, but at least none of these fucking idiots can tell. Thankfully, they’re so used to seeing such fake shows of grandiose and kindness, they won’t question the emptiness behind my eyes. They’d rather be fed voluntary lies than bother to question the ‘perfect’ society around them.

 

“The pleasure is all mine,” Mxyzptlk says, bowing low and placing a kiss to my hand that seems to linger there several beats too long.

 

Pulling my hand away as soon as it wouldn’t be seen as impolite, I discreetly rub the back of my hand on my stupidly overdone dress in an attempt to wipe whatever lingering lipstick was left from his lips. If I wanted lipstick marks on my body, it certainly wouldn’t be from him. Or any guy in general for that matter.

 

Mxyzptlk motions to the chair across from him but angled towards the audience as a friendly reminder that everything I say and everything I do is being inspected by throngs of people, some I can see and some I can’t.

 

I lean back easily into the chair, somehow more comfortable than anything we had in District 12, as the interview begins. “So, for the audience who doesn’t know, Ms. Danvers actually requested this interview. She told me she had some very exclusive information just for us.” He looks at the audience conspiratorially, as though a thousand of us were all in on our own super-secret plot. He turns back to me with a greedy grin. “So, Ms. Danvers, what exactly did you come here to share?”

 

I resist the almost overwhelming urge to fiddle with my fingers or mess with my dress in some sort of comforting, distracting motion to calm my nerves. But I know that everybody’s eyes are on me right now. And this sick, parasitic place will prey on any weakness it sees. Instead, I steel my gaze and play the game.

 

They aren’t the only predator out there. And I’m coming for them too. “Well,” I say with an intentionally shy giggle. “Kara didn’t want me to share this, but since these might be her last days, I wanted people to understand who she really is.” The solemnity in my voice disappears, replaced by a flighty giggle and an over exaggerated hand to my heart. “Plus, I’m such a strong believer in true love.” I turn my body towards the audience. “And I want people to be able to know her story and be inspired by it, just like I was,” I say with a doe-eyed blink that almost makes me sick.

 

I guarantee Lucy is watching this performance and laughing her ass off. I guess all those years of the two of us imitating and mocking those ditzy bitches who’d throw themselves at the first person who’d throw themselves back paid off. I may not be an actress, but they were a part I could slip into with ease after all these years.

 

“True love? Are you talking about Ms. Danvers’s elusive soulmate she went on about?” I briefly wonder if fang accessories are possible. If so, Mxyzptlk should really invest. At least they’d make his teeth shine under the spotlight he loves so much.

 

“Yeah,” I add a nervous blush. “She didn’t want her to know, but now that she’s in that arena with her I’m still technically obeying her wishes.”

 

“In the arena?” he says, literally on the edge of his seat.

 

“Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag. Yes. She’s the reason Kara volunteered. I think Kara would have volunteered for that little girl anyways, that’s the way she’s always been. Always trying to protect everyone.” My heart sinks in my chest. It feels wrong being honest on this stage. They don’t deserve to know what Kara’s like. They don’t deserve to know her at all. “But, she was already pretty set on coming. She wanted to protect her soulmate in there.” But it’s not about what these people deserve to know. It’s about what they need to know for her to survive in there.

 

Turning her and Lena into that arena’s Romeo and Juliet will make both of them more sympathetic and more likely to become favorites. They’ll get more sponsors and they’ll have a fighting chance. Her soulmate may be a Luthor, but the risk of associating with a Luthor is worth the pay off if this works. Plus, she’s going to ally herself with Lena either way. We might as well get on top of this and try to get something out of it.

 

Who knows. Cat even thinks there might even be enough protest to save both of them.

 

Mxyzptlk looks at me expectantly. “She wanted to protect…” I take a deep breath, keeping the audience desperate for my words. “Lena Luthor.”

 

The entire audience gasps, even though I don’t think it really surprised anyone considering their intimate moment in that mountain earlier.

 

“Wow, a Luthor and our very own superhero? Who would’ve thought,” Mxyzptlk says with a chuckle as he leans back once again his own chair. He says it with a confidence that makes my skin crawl, like he’s comfortable leaning back in his chair because he just wants to watch everybody else rip each other apart.

 

“I know. Isn’t it amazing, risking her life and essentially accepting a death sentence just for Lena. It reminds me every day of how amazing love is and how much I’m going to appreciate my own soulmate when I meet her,” I say with the same dreamy, ditzy voice.

 

“Absolutely. It’s certainly a reality check for all of us, isn’t it?” He looks at the crowd with that stunning, overdone smile that gets a rumbling agreement from the audience. “Now, I have a couple questions about all of this if that’s okay?”

 

“Of course.” I glance over at Cat, hidden in the shadows of the hectic backstage. The two of us share a secret look as she smiles and nods before turning back to go yell at some hapless Avox to go do this or that for her.

 

 

***

 

“If this is what Kara has to do if she survives the games, I might actually let her die. It can’t be as awful as this,” I complain under my breath.

 

“Don’t be ungrateful,” Cat snips back.

 

“This is our third party _tonight_!”

 

“And we’ve already gotten three sponsors,” Cat replies calmly.

 

“None of them willing to contribute enough to actually get us anything worthwhile sent into that arena.”

 

“There are things more important than weapons, Alex. And just a few more sponsors willing to contribute the same amount and we’ll at least have enough to get something in. I haven’t had sponsors this willing since my games.”

 

“And you weren’t even that good,” I snort back.

 

She turns back around at me with the speed of a demon and a death glare as harsh as a speeding bullet. “Go walk around the party and look for some suits with money.” I roll my eyes but dutifully play my roll. “Oh, and Alex?” I turn back. “Ought to keep your mouth shut. It makes you more likable,” she teases.

 

I really hate that woman.

 

I don’t even know why Kara chose her as her mentor. I much preferred Hank. He seemed more level-headed and certainly more trustworthy. It’s a miracle she hasn’t published Kara’s secret to her stupid District 12 gossip rag.

 

A beautiful dress entirely of blue and green feathers catches my eye. She must be rich to have a dress put together made only of feathers.

 

Is this how life is in the Capitol? Looking at people’s clothing, judging how wealthy they might be, and targeting them as though that’s all they’re worth. That certainly couldn’t be done in District 12. Nobody’s better when you’re all in rags.

 

I make a casual beeline towards the woman in the dress, plucking a glass of champagne from a passing silver tray to make myself look more casual and approachable. Hopefully, she hasn’t already pledged her money to other tributes.

 

Only a few steps away, a hand grabs my left arm causing the champagne to slosh dangerously close to the edge. I could easily ignore it and keep going to my next target. The grip is firm enough not to be mistaken as an accidental brush of skin, but it’s also light enough for me to keep moving.

 

Unfortunately, it’d be really rude to keep moving and I could be insulting a potential sponsor, or somebody who can throw their support behind another tribute and fuck Kara over.

 

Begrudgingly, I spin around and put on the biggest, fakest smile I can muster. Luckily, it’s not very difficult anymore. I’ve been wearing it on my face so often it may as well be plastered there.

 

And there she is.

 

It’s odd because she’s actually around my age. And she doesn’t look as fake as everybody else. Her outfit is right on par with everyone else’s, but her eyes actually have real emotion behind them and her face isn’t so plastic it can’t move anymore.

 

And God, she wouldn’t need a weapon in the Games with those dimples.

 

But I know her. I’ve met plenty like her in the last couple of days, going from party to party getting sponsors for Kara. She’s probably on the path to becoming just as fake as the rest of these assholes. She’s just got a prettier face.

 

“Hello,” I say with a false, charming smile.

 

“Alex Danvers, right?”

 

“Yeah, that’s me!”

 

“No need to keep up the act with me. I can see right through it, Danvers.” Danvers? Only Lucy calls me Danvers… This woman doesn’t even know me and yet she addresses me like we’re friends.

 

Yet, it doesn’t bother me half as much as I know it should.

 

Before I can respond, playing dumb, she continues. “I’m interested in sponsoring your sister, Kara.”

 

“Really? That’s amazing!” Wow, that was easy. Usually I have to schmooze people to get them to give up even a small percentage of their endless wealth (not because they need to be convinced, they already want to do it. Mostly it’s for their ego). “Thank you so much.”

 

“Put me down for $200,000.” I can practically feel the hinges on my jaw break as it drops.

 

“I’m Maggie Sawyer, by the way,” she says with an easy wink that could knock a girl off her feet. I must look like a guppy, with my mouth open and my eyes wide like Kara’s when we were younger and she was just exploring our world.

 

I reach up and rub the back of my neck, tracing over the words I can’t feel but know are there, tattooed on my body: Maggie Sawyer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it was definitely a departure to have an Alex-style POV. I'm sorry to spring this on you almost randomly, and right after Game tensions have begun! I know I'm the worst. But, I promise this does have a purpose if you just hang in there.
> 
> The next chapter will be a return to form with plenty of Kara/Lena.
> 
> A Real Life Love Story: My English Teacher/Advisor actually dated their now-husband when he was a sophomore and she was a senior in college. Then she had to move away. And they kept their relationship alive, LONG DISTANCE, for 2 more years. Now they're married with twins. So, long distance may seem daunting and impossible. But with a little work it can totally work!


	13. Protection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on: Okay, so I’m recapping the last two chapters (aka, I’m only going back as far as when the Games started). Lena enters the games with a pep talk from Max, saying he always roots for a rebel and not to trust Kara. Kara saves Lena’s life, but at the price of letting another tribute die. Had she used her powers, she could’ve saved both of them. So, Kara has to finally deal with the moral conflict that she has superpowers, but can’t use them, which effectively risks people’s lives in the arena in exchange for keeping others safe on the outside (since she believes that if the Capitol finds out about her powers, they will nuke her district as they did for District 13). In the end of the chapter, Kara becomes overwhelmed and suffers a sensory overload due to the high emotional stakes of the games.
> 
> Meanwhile, Alex and Cat collude and they reveal that Lena is Kara’s soulmate in order to gain sympathy and potential sponsors by selling them as the ‘star crossed lovers’ you should root for. Also, Alex met her soulmate: Maggie Sawyer.

 

Protection

 

Kara POV

 

Why is it so dark? Are my eyes open? I’m pretty sure they are open. I blink a couple more times, looking in vain for any source of light. Eventually residing to the fact that I have no idea where I am and I have to actually get up to figure it out, I sit up and look for any sort of light.

 

What seems like hundreds of feet away I can see a few slivers of light sneaking through that look dim enough to be artificial. “I see you’re up,” chuckles a familiar voice through the dark.

 

“Lena?”

 

“What time is it? What happened?” I ask, a little disoriented and hoping my eyes will adjust to the dark to at least see the outline of her body. I can still feel the heat coming off her body, so she’s only a movement away.

 

“After… yesterday,” she says yesterday carefully, like one wrong word or one reminder of my overload could send me tumbling over the edge again. “You were pretty exhausted. I guess you just fell asleep and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

 

“Oh.” I’m suddenly glad that this cave is dark so she can’t see the embarrassing blush smattering my cheeks.

 

I’ve had sensory overloads before around like Lucy and Alex. I used to have them a lot at school when I first came to Earth. But I’m mostly in control of them now. They really only happen now when my emotions are overwhelmed and I can’t focus on holding back my powers anymore to accommodate the way humans normally process things. For the most part, I have it under control now.

 

“I’m sorry you had to deal with me like that.”

 

I hate it when I lose control. I know it’s weird for other people to deal with. They usually don’t know what to do. And then people treat me differently. Suddenly, I’m the freak who just suddenly starts having ‘panic’ attacks at random, or they all treat me like a piece of glass they’re afraid of shattering. And then we’re both feeling stuck, unsure how to treat one another.

 

I don’t want us to feel stuck.

 

“I, uh, know it can be a lot to deal with. Usually Alex or Lucy is around and they know how to deal with it. And I promise I don’t really get them that much anymore it’s just-”

 

“Kara, calm down,” she says placing a warm hand against my arm. “It’s fine. Whatever happened, you needed to deal with it.” Being touched by her is weird. Not in a sexual way, but because I barely know her. It’s like, touching her casually was a boundary I wasn’t sure I could cross. And she just does it so easily. It makes me a little uneasy, but it feels nice. “I just hope I helped more than hindered,” she adds self-deprecatingly.

 

My eyes adjust enough for me to see the general outline of her body, but that’s about it. And then I remember, I have X-Ray vision. Immediately I can see the entirety of the cave we’re in, filled with strange and oddly placed artificial tracks everywhere.

 

Although I still can’t see Lena’s face, I can see her bones and imagine the way her face must look on top of it, which is marginally better than not seeing her at all. “You totally helped, I promise.” Looking over her body, I can see the uncharacteristic droop in her usually straight shoulders and the continuous fluttering of her eyes.

 

“Lena, you said yesterday?”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“Have you been awake this whole time?”

 

“Well, somebody had to keep watch,” she half-chuckles, as if she doesn’t have the energy to make it more than half-hearted. Was this what she was like when I woke up? How did I only just notice? “And you weren’t exactly available.” I have literal superpowers. I should’ve picked up on it sooner!

 

With the new boundary on touching completely down, I reach out and place my hand on her upper arm. She sends me a weak smile before continuing, “So, are you ready to get moving?” I immediately strengthen my grip on her arm, holding her back from getting up.

 

“Kara?”

 

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

 

“No, you need to get some rest. You’ve been going for-” I pause to squint at the approximate sunlight, “nearly twenty-four hours.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She brushes me off as if to say, ‘Don’t worry about me; I don’t matter.”

 

I wonder if she knows how infuriating it is to care about someone who doesn’t seem to care about themselves. She probably thinks she’s doing me a favor, not burdening me with her problems and her wellbeing. But I _want_ to know about her problems. I _want_ to know if she’s doing okay. And… it’s just so frustrating to want to know those things and also knowing she won’t share them just because she’s afraid I _don’t_ want to know them.

 

“We’re burning daylight, Kara,” she continues. “We’re hiding out in a giant landmark. It’s a miracle that nobody else has come through here yet. We need to get moving.” She moves to get up again, but I pull her back down.

 

“And you need to get some rest. You… you should’ve woken me last night!” I huff.

 

“I wasn’t going to wake you, Kara.” I can see the muscles in her jaw tighten in anger. “You’d clearly been through a stressful ordeal. _You_ needed the rest far more than I did. I’m used to running on very little sleep. I’ll be perfectly fine.”

 

“No, you won’t!” I can hear my voice getting louder, getting harsher. But I can’t seem to stop myself. “I can see the exhaustion in your body!”

 

“You can see it?” she questions with an arch of her eyebrow in the almost-black cave.

 

“I-um, I mean, I can feel it. In your body,” I grip her arm a little tighter as if that will back up my story. “My point is, you should’ve woken me up when you needed it. I care about you. I don’t want to watch you kill yourself in here for me.”

 

Her previously calm demeanor breaks like a flood door. “You think I want to watch you die for me either!” And just as suddenly, it closes. “You’ve already saved my life once,” her voice quiets, almost remorsefully. “Maybe I wanted to protect you now.”

 

“I don’t need protecting, Lena!” I want to tell her that I have super strength and super speed and invulnerable skin. That if I get hurt, which I can’t by any human weapons they’ll find in here, you can just put me out to dry in the sun and I’ll recover within an hour. If she gets hurt, she won’t be fixed so easily.

  
If she gets hurt… if she dies here… there won’t be any point to me being here at all. I’ll have broken every vow I’ve ever made. I promised to protect Kal, and now he’s dead. And now I’ve promised to protect Lena. I won’t break this vow.

 

“And I don’t either!”

 

I almost guffaw at the idea. Humans are so breakable. I could lift my pinky finger and kill someone. If you turn up the heat just a few degrees they can die of dehydration. If you play music too loud they can go deaf. If they stub their toe on a table they can trip and dislocate an arm. Humans can die of a Rao-damned hiccup.

 

“YES, YOU DO!”

 

“What?” And suddenly, the cave is quiet, filled only with a palpable yet silent sense of disbelief. “Am I just some damsel in distress to you?”

 

Shit.

 

I’ve screwed up.

 

“Do you think I can’t handle myself out here, Kara? I admit, I have you to thank for saving me from George. But I’m no sacrificial lamb, bending my head to show off my neck. I’m a Luthor. I’m practically bred for these games. I get my hands on the right equipment and I can take out half of this arena in a second. I’m not the fool with the no-kill rule running around in a killing ring!”

 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I apologize quietly. “You don’t need my protection, but I _want_ to protect you.”

 

“No, you don’t get to just…” she trails off in frustration. “You think I’m just some little girl who needs your protection. Well I don’t.” She lets out an angry sigh. “I’m so sick of everybody else in my life making decisions for me. My parents die and I get adopted by a family who I didn’t choose. Then Lex goes and makes a choice that wrecks my entire life. And now, I can’t even choose to let you sleep because I want to protect the one person left in this fucked up world who still might be good.”

 

A shocked silence settles over the entire cave at her accidental admittance.

 

… She thinks I’m the last person left who might be good? Is that what the world looks like to her? Like there’s almost no hope left?

 

“Maybe I don’t want to be protected,” she continues weakly. “Maybe, for once, I want to be the protector. When I die, I want to know that I did something good. That I _chose_ to do something good. Something like protecting you.”

 

Some of the bitterness returns to her voice, “So, yeah. I let you sleep.”

 

I almost chuckle at the irony. This whole time, I’ve been trying to protect her. And now, she’s just trying to protect me. And the two of us are fighting each other, killing ourselves, just to be the other person’s martyr. “Maybe you shouldn’t protect me. And I shouldn’t protect you. Well, not solely at least. We protect each other, equally. No putting one life ahead of the other because it’s both of us, in here, together. Does that sound alright?”

 

Lena hesitates, still a little high on her anger. “Okay,” she finally agrees.

 

An awkward silence passes over us, neither sure of what to say next. “So, uh, do you want to get moving then or…”

 

I pray to Rao I didn’t strike another nerve at the mere suggestion she rests. “No, I. You’re right. We have to protect each other equally. And I… I could really use a nap.” I let out a silent breath of relief. “But, only for an hour, okay? You only let me sleep for an hour.”

 

“You’ve got it chief.”

 

***

 

Lena POV

 

People say loneliness is the real killer. And I would agree that loneliness doesn’t help, but I don’t think it’s the killer. The problem isn’t that you feel alone, like there’s no one to turn to. There’s still someone left to turn to: yourself. And that, is the real killer.

 

When Lex… did what he did, I was alone for months without a friendly face in the world. The only person I could talk to was myself. But, here’s the funny thing about ourselves. We don’t _love_ ourselves. We hate who we are. We bring ourselves down, denigrate and degrade every little thing about us. The little voice in our head is never one of love but always one of self-loathing.

 

When people say that they need friends, that’s not exactly true. Enjoying the company of another living being is just a bonus. What we really crave is a distraction. Something – someone – to get our mind off of whatever horrid things we’re thinking about ourselves that are so close to rising to our consciousness.

 

I think it’s one of the reasons I like Kara so much. She’s always talking, or, maybe babbling is the correct word. It’s like she doesn’t understand what a comfortable silence is. But, it’s kind of nice. It distracts me from all the shit that’s normally going on in my head. And sometimes, a lot of times, it even makes me smile. Or laugh. Or just… feel _something_.

 

And now, it seems, I’ve broken Kara. Other than the necessary, ‘What should we do today to survive?’ ‘Find water,’ the two of us have been walking along in silence for _at least_ an hour. I may not know Kara that well, but I do know that by now we probably would’ve already covered at least 5 different topics. But I scared her away. I don’t know if she’s scared of the fact that I yelled at her, or that I care about her more than I know I should. But either way, I scared her and now she’s acting like a whole other person.

 

Great, just another reason to hate myself.

 

“So, um,” my voice sounds like metal grating on steel or nails on a chalkboard amidst our previous, tense silence. “Do you have any idea where we are?” I almost breathe a sigh of relief when my question is over.

 

A brief look of surprise, quickly masked by Kara’s usually calm but kind demeanor, pops up on Kara’s face. She responds just a moment too late, enough to know that she’s feeling just as hesitant as I am. “I’ve been thinking about that, actually.” I can feel the tension in my shoulder disappear as I breathe out, thankful that Kara responded at all. But, of course, I should’ve known she would. Kara is perhaps too polite, she’d never leave my awkward olive branch of conversation simply hanging.

 

“I’ve seen a few pictures of the Savior Wars, right around the time the Capitol was rising to true power and putting down all the other factions vying power after the nuclear holocaust that happened, and this is kind of what it looked like. I mean, it wasn’t exactly like this – not as musty and unused and everything,” she babbles, “but the architectural style, and the older technology all scream of this time period. So, I’ve got it narrowed down to three possibilities.” Determination and excitement fill her eyes. They kind of remind me of me, or, how I used to be. Back in classes when teachers didn’t hate me and I didn’t have to keep my head low. Every time I was piecing together a concept I’d get that same look. It’s nice to see it again, even if it’s not on me. “I’ve seen a lot of tracks so maybe this is some elaborate, old-fashioned train station, an amusement park, or maybe a small city like New York was, but the last one if kind of far-fetched since I don’t see too many places to live,”

 

“New York?” I question.  


“It’s one of the old major cities.” History class never was my strong suit. “Apparently, it was one of the last to fall too. It was supposed to be very elaborate, practically built on technology, which is why I could see it being this place. But, I don’t know, there were never any pictures.”

 

“I wish I’d paid a little more attention in history class then. God, I’d love to live in a city built on technology.”

 

Suddenly, it’s like everything about her turns dark. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.” Her usually sunny face suddenly dons a grimace that looks out-of-place. “A world made of technology can’t solve every problem. Sometimes, it causes them.” It’s clear she’s been through… something. The way her eyes storm over with anger, but mostly sadness. And it seems strange that someone whose clearly been through some sort of awful pain can still smile as brightly as she does.

 

Another silence passes over us. The tension isn’t between us this time, but it still feels awkward. Like I’ve somehow fucked up in praising a city made of technology. “So, uh, what’s an amusement park, then?” I ask, rousing her from her worryingly mopey-looking thoughts.

 

And just like that, she changes back into the Kara I recognize. “Oh, it’s this thing people would go to and there would be these insane rides and fun games and things to do! Things to, well, amuse yourself with, I guess.” She shrugs with that happy-go-lucky smile of hers. “I always wanted to go to one when I was a kid.” A dreamy look overtakes her eyes.

 

“So, that’s where you think we are? An amusement park?”

 

She scrunches her adorable eyebrows. “Well, I’m not positive. But it’s really my best guess.”

 

“So, all of these rides, they’re made of old tech, right?”

 

“Yeah, I think so.”

 

“That’s wonderful!” This is the first time the entire games I’ve had a full, genuine smile. “I mean, I knew I saw some tech around here and there, but this may very well mean there’s a limitless amount of tech that I can use! Kara Danvers, we may just get out of here yet!”

 

Kara smiles back at me with this impossible mixture of uncontrollable excitement and restrained kindness. “We still have to find some water first,” she reminds.

 

“Yes, of course, but I mean, if we see something that looks promising maybe we could stop along the way?” I use my best hopeful, puppy eyes on her.

 

She rolls her eyes back in a good-hearted response.

 

Exceedingly more excited that there’s more tech in here than what’s in my bag – which can hardly be counted as tech – and the few spare pieces of metal track I’ve seen lying around, I continue talking to Kara with much more hope for the future than when we first began talking. “So, how do you know all of this?”

 

“I, uh, spent a lot of time in the library when I was a kid,” she pushes her glasses up further onto her nose and I’m not sure if it’s out of habit, nervousness, or pride, but either way it was sort of cute. “Sometimes it felt like I spent twenty-four years in those stacks,” she continues.

 

“Twenty-four years? That’s a very specific number.”

 

She blushes awkwardly, as though I’ve just caught her in some kind of truth she didn’t want me to know. “Well, I remember it all very specifically I guess.”

 

“So, is that what you wanted to be then? Some sort of librarian or archivist?”

 

“Oh no, not at all,” she says with that characteristic blush as she looks down, embarrassed, at her feet. “I’ve always wanted to help people.” It’s just my luck I’d be friends with an actual saint. “So, when I was little I wanted to be, like, a superhero or something.” I let out a chuckle, imagining bumbling, mildly awkward Kara as a superhero. And yet, for some reason, I can totally see it. With her compassion, I can’t think of anybody more heroic. “Which, later translated into wanting to work for the peacekeepers. Y’know a force of good, of policing the citizens and stopping bad guys, but I quickly figured out that stopping the bad guys was kind of the last thing they did. Most of the time, they were the bad guys. So, I was thinking maybe journalism where I can expose corruption or just, working on the ground level and working with the homeless or the cold or the hungry, which is sort of everybody in District 12,” she admits off-hand.

 

I wonder what it’s like, living in District 12. District 3 wasn’t the darling of the capitol or anything like that, but we certainly had our privileges. Nobody was out dying in the streets or worried if their spouse would come home after a mine collapse. “Here I am, complaining about my fate, while thousands of people suffer daily,” I say jokingly, even though we’re both aware how serious the statement is.

 

“Comparing suffering is like comparing two people who drowned. It doesn’t matter how each person drowned. They both still drowned.” Even now, Kara is finding ways to make me feel better. I imagine it isn’t very hard to fall a little bit in love with someone like her. “So, what about you? What did you want to do, before all of this?”  


“I was always raised to work at LuthorCorp in some capacity so I always wanted to be a scientist.”

 

“Did you ever want to be anything else?” she asks with that quiet, beautiful innocence.

 

“I never really thought beyond that, I guess.”

 

“Not even a princess? Or a firefighter?” she teases.

 

“I suppose I lacked imagination as a ch-”

 

“GET DOWN!” And suddenly, a too-warm arm is wrapped around my lower back and pulling me down as thought it, alone, has decided to embody gravity. The whiz of a high-speed arrow zooms above our heads and out of my eyesight.

 

SHIT! So much for staying on guard, Lena.

 

From the right, I can hear the growl of a quickly-approaching woman. A glance up reveals the woman from District 4, Elektra, running at us with two miniaturized, trident-shaped weapons in hand.

 

“I’ve got this,” Kara mutters under her breath.

 

“Kara, don’t be stupid!” I whisper-shout back. Elektra is practically on top of us before our argument can continue. I suppose brutal killing waits for no man. Kara makes a move to trip her, only for Elektra to evade and jump over us both. Kara immediately pushes herself up off the ground and goes to engage Elektra, weaponless.

 

From behind one of the rides another person appears, her District 4 counterpart, Sam.  I suppose he’s the one who threw – I glance over at the weapon lying on the ground – javelin earlier. “Shit,” I mutter. I guess technology does no good if I don’t have any time to prepare it.

 

He makes a run for his javelin. Okay, that’s a weakness. He either can’t fight or prefers to fight with a weapon. ‘That can be used as a distraction,’ I compartmentalize.

 

Fuck, if I could just have a minute or two alone with this goddamn bag on my pack I know I could create a miniature bomb and get us out of here. I did _not_ almost die trying to attain this bag only to die without using it.

 

Okay, I memorized the contents of this bag last night. There’s some aluminum arrow heads in there, two cannisters, and an assortment of metals that I went over with a fine-tooth comb to make sure they were the right ones. All I’m missing is the steel of a sword and some fruits for the highly acidic reaction I’m looking for.

 

“Kara?”

 

I glance over at her, holding her own fairly well against Elektra. She glances over at me as she ducks down to evade a strike from Elektra’s deadly looking weapons. “Get me one of her weapons!”

 

She nods confidently before returning her attention back to the battle. Once I know she’ll get me what I need – which will hopefully have the metal I need – I haul ass to any of the nearest trees, praying that what I need is close by.

 

Thankfully, the guy with the javelin seems to have stayed by to tag-team with Elektra against Kara. Please don’t let Kara die. Please don’t let Kara die. Please don’t let Kara die.

 

 I don’t like the idea of Kara fighting this all on her own. I’m not even sure she can. But, if I stay over there with her, odds are _both_ of us will get killed. If, on the other hand, this works, hopefully both of us will walk out of there alive.

 

In the distance, I can see the yellow hanging off the tree and shriveled on the ground that I need. I feel myself sprint a little bit faster as I reach the lemons in what must be record time.

 

I can practically feel my lungs on fire and my calves burning when I return to the scene, Kara still standing against the two of them. Sam is off to the side, not out of the game, but quickly recovering from sort sort of attack to his right hand. Shockingly, Kara looks unscathed despite the vicious and somewhat trained attacks coming from Elektra. She seems to evade the would-be-blows consistently.

 

“Kara, do you have it?” I yell. Kara sends me an impish look as she holds up one of Elektra’s weapons in her hand.

 

We may just get out of this yet.

 

And then I hear it, the rip of cloth. Shit. I inadvertently distracted Kara and Elektra got a clean hit across her chest, ripping the fabric between her neck and breasts.

 

Kara, for the most part, looks worried but not wounded. She tosses me Elektra’s weapon, understanding what I’m trying to do.

 

I grab almost blindly in my haste for the weapon and start cutting open the five lemons I’d grabbed and squeeze like my life depends on it, which, it kind of does. As soon as the juice spreads sufficiently around the entire bag I open the two canisters, one of alcohol and the other with my final ingredient, and grab the bag, rushing it to Kara and Elektra’s battle.

 

“KARA, GET CLEAR!” Within the second, Kara is already running away as I set the bag down and drop the final piece in, Elektra’s own weapon, into the bag as I run faster than I ever thought possible.

 

The impact of the explosion lifts my feet off the ground and pushes my body away from the blast with an unnerving heat that feels like they might be leaving fourth degree burns. The last thing I remember is the crashing sound of my head against the pavement.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it a bit unrealistic for this ‘bomb’ to work? Yes. Yes, it is. But please, just suspend your disbelief for this and I’ll love your forever.
> 
> A story: I'm a bit more like Lena. I'm afraid that I'll burden people with my being okay. I think, they don't care if I'm alright. They don't really want that text that I got home safe, they're just saying that to be polite. So, I had an appointment to make, but I was at Starbucks with my friends. So I left as though I was going to the bathroom, but really I just left and walked to my appointment. Well, my friends sat me down for a conversation recently, literally months later, and they said, "No. We hated when you did that. Tell us where you are. We want to make sure you're okay. We would've driven you back. We You are not a burden. It was more of a burden not to know. We care." So find you some friends like this. Find you a Kara who wants to know what's going on with you and if you'll be alright. Know that shit like that, is never a burden.
> 
> Get ready for next chapter. The next chapter re-introduces a friendly face and it’s also marginally gayer.


	14. Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been awhile, so there is a recap here and the same one in the story: Kara enters the Hunger Games in order to protect Lena but must keep her superpowers a secret because, if they are revealed, it’s very possible that the government will drop a nuclear bomb on her and those around her just to stop her (as they did with Clarke Kent). After saving Lena’s life at the cost of someone else’s, Kara goes into a sensory overload/breakdown of sorts. Afterwards, Lena and Kara promise to protect each other throughout the games and together they venture out to find water. Unfortunately, they find two more competitors. Kara fights them off while Lena creates a bomb, which she sets off before promptly being knocked unconscious from the blast.
> 
> Coming Up in this Chapter: The aftermath of the bomb going off and a run for their lives. Also, that gay shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, I know it's been a very long while. Happy Thanksgiving! I apologize, I write when I'm inspired and when I have the time and I wasn't really feeling this chapter until I started writing, but I ended up liking it for the most part after writing it, I just wanted to get it out so you can read it. Thanks so much.

Recap: Kara enters the Hunger Games in order to protect Lena but must keep her superpowers a secret because, if they are revealed, it’s very possible that the government will drop a nuclear bomb on her and those around her just to stop her (as they did with Clarke Kent). After saving Lena’s life at the cost of someone else’s, Kara goes into a sensory overload/breakdown of sorts. Afterwards, Lena and Kara promise to protect each other throughout the games and together they venture out to find water. Unfortunately, they find two more competitors. Kara fights them off while Lena creates a bomb, which she sets off before promptly being knocked unconscious from the blast.

 

**Wolves**

 

When we were eleven, Alex asked me what it was like when Krypton exploded, but there were no words to explain it, either in Kryptonian or English. So instead, I tried to compare it to things.

 

_It sounds like the bullet when it left the barrel of the gun the peacekeeper used to assassinate the rebel when we were ten years old and the whole District showed up because executions were as much a town event as Thrift Thursdays._ But that wasn’t quite right. _It sounds like the mines when they rumble and threaten to crumble, shaking the Earth like it’s a toddler’s toy that isn’t working right anymore_. But no. That wasn’t quite right either _. It sounds like the “L” when it rolls off the tongue of the announcers every year when the microphone turns on for the first time and “Let the games begin” rumbles throughout the stadium._ But, that wasn’t quite right either.

 

It sounds like Eliza sitting the two of us down on the worn-down couch that had a Jeremiah-shaped indent on it from the ritualistic way we’d sit around every night after dinner and talk about our day or have a game night, adults versus kids, and she told us that Jeremiah wouldn’t be coming back home.

 

It looks like her eyes, filled with tears and focused on the wall behind us, when she said his name. It smells like the couch months later, that always used to have the faint smell of soot and sweat sticky from his clothes, which now just smelled like laundry detergent and the tears I’d hear Eliza cry. It tastes like burned green beans because, as much as Eliza tried, she never did master his way of cooking them.

 

That’s what it was like to watch Krypton explode.

 

And that’s what Lena’s bomb felt like, all over again.

 

I glance over to my right, Elektra and Sam unconscious on the ground. Dragging myself up, I heave my body off the ground. I know that, physically, there’s nothing wrong with me, but my body still feels heavy and lethargic.

 

All four of our heartbeats thump along and I let out a sigh of relief.

 

More memories of Krypton and Jeremiah rise to the surface of my memory, pushing for control of my body. And then I see Lena. Passed out on the ground. Parts of her skin are inhumanely red. It feels like I’m seeing her organs, like all of her skin has melted off, probably because a lot of it has. Her left arm is littered in red and there are less severe red blotches on one of her legs that, I think, will go away in time.

 

Forcing the memories back where they belong, in the past, I focus on Lena and the burns on her body and getting her the hell away from here and to some water.

 

Elektra and Sam are a problem for another day.

 

With each new step, gravity seems to weigh me down just that little bit more and I know it’s not an effect of the yellow sun, it’s just in my mind, but it’s feels more real and more powerful than my super strength or laser vision or freeze breath.

 

I carefully pick up Lena’s body, bridal style. She lets out a small groan of pain as I readjust my hands, accidentally brushing the burned parts of her skin. “Come on, Lee. It’s time we get going,” I mutter.

 

And I walk and walk, each step getting heavier until I think I must be the weight of Krypton because that’s how much gravity is pulling on me, until we reach water.

 

When we’re finally at water’s edge, I set Lena down as gently as I can, sit by her side, and let the floodgates of my memory open.

 

***

 

Fuck, my body feels like it’s on fire. How quickly can I make myself pass out again so I don’t have to feel this anymore? If I just hold my breath for a couple minutes, I’ll lose oxygen flow and pass out, but then the body’s natural instinct to live will kick in at some point and that’ll be a waste. I can’t wait to pass out from the pain if I’ve already been awake this long I won’t be passing out again.

 

I blink a few more times, hoping for some sort of image to clear up beyond the occasional colorful flashes illuminating blackness. My skin feels like it’s on fire or I’ve just jumped into a volcano where every cool breeze simultaneously helps and stings.

 

Okay Lena, now is not the time to panic. You need to assess your injuries and come up with a potential solution. I can feel my toes, so at least I know I’m not paralyzed. It hurts like a fucking bitch to move my legs, especially the backs, but I can still move them so it’s most likely burns but not first degree. My head is killing me which could mean a variety of things: Concussion. Skull fracture. Brain bleed. Most likely response is a concussion, but with an explosion like the one _I_ created, a brain bleed is not out of the question. Brain bleed or concussion will mostly go away on its own and heal with time as long as they’re not too traumatic. Just can’t read for a little while. And when am I going to have time to read before I die in this arena anyways.

 

Suddenly, my vision starts to focus, black disappearing for an assault of color. A large spot of blue starts to clear in my vision. It’s nothing more than a splotch, an abstract blob on a painter’s canvas, but I’m pretty sure it’s water. And fuck does water sound good right now.

 

It’s maddening, crawling towards that undefined blue, but feeling so paralyzed. Every move I make feels like a marathon, my bones screaming in pain I’ve never felt, pain that makes me envy stubbing my toe on a table or falling catastrophically down stairs. And yet, I barely seem to move an inch closer. It’s like being asleep in a dream and desperately trying to wake up, but all too aware of how futile it is.

 

Is it really worth it? Every time I move, everything hurts even more. My only respite is in between each movement, my body collapsing like jello on the ground, only to heave back up and start the process of nerve ends on fire and bones breaking out from skin and ache running as deep as my bloodstream. Is it really worth it?

 

I could just lay here. And it would hurt so much less. It’s not such a bad way to die. Sun on my face and I went down fighting. Who would miss me? Not my mother. Lex, maybe, if he were lucid that day. Kara… no that’s just wishful thinking.

 

Fuck, Kara! I make a move to roll over, trying to get a better sense of where I am and if she’s around, but I stop halfway through and roll back on my stomach in defeat. Moving more than my current crawl isn’t happening.

 

I need to keep moving. I need to find Jax, one of the only people left who treats me like a person. And I need to survive so I can punch Maxwell in his stupid, smug face. And I need to be there for Kara. We promised each other we’d protect each other. I can’t give up on her. What if she’s out there, hurt even worse by the bomb or stupid Elektra and Sam kidnapped her? What if she needs my help?

 

Taking a deep breath, which just ends up hurting my lungs, I continue crawling towards the blue spot that is most definitely water. I need to cool these burns right now, even if it feels like it’s killing me.

 

What feels like hours later, but I truly have no idea, the tip of my finger touches the first ripple. The freezing water is like a breath of fresh air or how it felt when all the cameras finally abandoned my house after Lex’s trial. Clean. Pure. Good. Free.

 

Eager for more reward, I stick my hand in, getting the first real taste of consequence. I can physically hear the sizzle of my skin on the water, a sound that should never come from a living body. It hurts like a motherfucker and I can’t ever imagine any emotional pain equal to it, even when at my lowest points.

 

But I keep moving, masochist I am, plunging myself deeper and deeper into the water until every part of me is submerged. It vaguely reminds me of Jack and me, in the lab together, testing hypotheses after school when we were supposed to have vacated.

 

We had this theory involving our blood platelets. If we could essentially force them to move faster, then they’d get to places in our body needing healing more quickly and we’d heal faster. The two of us crafted a concoction – all of materials readily available to high school scientists who also had millionaire parents – and tested it on ourselves.

 

The cut of the sterilized knife on my hand was sharp and stinging, but I kept cutting until I had a deep, long line, matching all those stupid ‘life lines’ psychics talk about. And then I took the syringe and shot myself up, once in the leg, and once in my arm. Three times, I used my own hand to hurt myself. I guess it was just practice for this moment, forcing my burning body into ice cold water, equal parts relief and horrific suffering.

 

I barely turned myself on my back once I hit the water, using just enough effort to float precariously above the slightly rippling water. It’s the first time I notice, there are no clouds in the sky. When we were little, Lex and I would walk to the park and play Frisbee or football or whatever and, after we had exerted ourselves too much, we’d collapse on the same green, grassy hill and stare up at the sky, looking at the clouds. He’d see bears and tigers and computer systems. I’d see monitors and test tubes and ponies. And we'd go back and forth, pointing them out and tracing the shape of the cloud in the image we saw until the other person saw it too.

 

But there are no clouds in this sky. Probably because this isn’t a sky at all. Somewhere past it there is sky, but now there is a bubble covering it so we can see the faces of the dead haunt us, tell us of our futures. And you can’t have a cloudy sky if you want to see the wrinkles from smiling around their eyes or the somber glare of the photograph that was taken when their names were called.

 

Over time, my body begins to hurt less and the burn calms itself down from wildfire to controlled trash can fire and I can hear my teeth chattering, even as my body burned up. I need to get out before my body numbs itself and I stay in too long.

 

My left-hand grabs blindly towards land, as if they’ll be a ledge to hold onto. I grope at nothing but water and the shallow land beneath it for several minutes until finally semi-dry land touches my fingers and I struggle out of the water.

 

I flop towards land, vulnerable and desperate in the same way baby sea turtles flop towards the ocean. And then, I can see her, not more than a few feet from where I was laying. She’s not that far away, but with how slow I’ve been lately she may as well be miles away.

 

She’s just sitting down, knees to her chest, head on her knees, and eyes toward the sky. Her hair is lightly caressed by the breeze as she stares off at the cloudless sky. She doesn’t look like she’s in pain. I can’t see any bruises or signs of pain, but she’s covered pretty well.

 

And, for the first time, I hate her. I resent the fuck out of her. I’m over here, burns littering my skin like a warzone, and she seems relatively fine over there. She doesn’t bother to help me out, bring me to the water, or at least hold my hand and be there when I wake up, her figure leaned over mine so that the first thing I see is her face and not a fucking blotch of blue. All her talk of selflessness and the sanctity of life, but she can’t seem to care when I am suffering.

 

The rage races through me like cocaine running through veins, twisting my reality until I can’t feel the pain anymore, only seeing anger and her as I inch closer and closer.

 

“Kara, what the hell,” I say, my burned hand slamming down in anger on her thigh. She doesn’t seem to register my words, or even move her leg out of pure reflex. It’s like I’m not even there.

 

“Kara? Kara!” I demand, groping her body like a rock-climbing wall, trying to pull my body up on hers because it’s too weak to sit up on its own. I finally pull myself up enough to see her face, to see the rivers running down like track marks that can’t be hidden. She’s staring straight ahead at the nothing sky and the nothing trees but her eyes are blank, as if her mind is world’s away, off in another galaxy and another time.

 

She must be having another sensory overload. It would make sense. A fucking bomb going off in your ears, fighting just to stay alive. That’s a lot to take in at once. Shit. Fuck. And here I was acting like some self-righteous bitch. I may be in pain, but so is she.

 

“Kara,” I say, much more gently. I try to move my hand up and down her arm, but it hurts too much. Instead, I settle on gripping as lightly as possible to her arm and simply rubbing my thumb back and forth. “Kara, darling.”

 

And I keep doing that, over and over. My thumb running circles against her arm, partially using her body as leverage to keep mine up and partially imposing it with my own will, cooing her name. Until finally, exhaustion – not pain as I had hoped when I first woke up – forces me to pass out.

 

***

 

Blinking back into reality, the first thing I notice is Lena’s cold, slouched body against mine. Crap. I hate it when this happens. It’s been happening so much more recently. While I was here dealing with stupid memories Lena’s actually been suffering.

 

And then I hear it. It’s still distant, but it’s loud. HHHHH. WHOO. HHH. WHOOO. The heavy pants of someone running. The pound of feet clumsily hitting cement. The pumping of air in every step.

 

And the growling.

 

I slide the black frames of my glasses down my nose, letting my X-ray vision kick in. It’s another contestant, I can’t tell who. Male, taller so probably not one of the young ones. And there’s a pack of wolves on his tail. At least seven of them.

 

Dang it.

 

They’re headed straight for us and Lena can’t survive a fight right now, or even moving. Instinctually, I sling Lena over my shoulder and just start running away. Shit I wonder if wolves can swim. Of course wolves can swim, you idiot! Don’t turn back, don’t think back. Just keep moving.

 

Not too far off, I can see an artificial tree, taller than the rest. It still looks real, and certainly strong enough to support the two of us. Using my super speed to stay just a little bit ahead of the curve, I make a beeline straight for the tree.

 

The wolves are slowly catching up to him. It’s in the microseconds of a step, the extra second to grab more breath, but with each decision helping to save his life in the moment he loses time that will save him in the long run.

 

I have to hurry.

 

“Lena,” I huff between breaths. “Lena, you have to wake up.” I can feel her stir beneath me, the slight movements of her head and the wiggle of her body waking up against mine. She lets out a moan of pain, probably the pain of her burned skin chafing on mine.

 

“What… what’s going on? Are we-”

 

“There’s something coming. I can hear it. We’re gonna hide in a tree up ahead, but I can’t climb the tree and hold you like this.” I mean… I probably could, but it looks incredibly suspicious. The fact that I can even climb this tree with her on my back is already weird enough and I can already hear Alex’s voice in my head _You need to remain as discreet as possible. Save her life, but only make concessions where you **must**. _ Plus, if they find me out. If they find out what I am, it can put more lives than just Lena’s on the line. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to need you to do something for me,” I say. We’re only a couple yards away.

 

“It’s okay, Kara. I can’t expect you to commit suicide for me. You climb the tree and I’ll stay down here and face whoever it is.”

 

“What?! Lena, no.” God I wish I could see her face right now, reassure her that I would never. How, after all we’ve been through, could she think I’d ever do that to her? “We protect each other, remember?”

 

“R-right,” she stutters, relief flooding her voice.

 

“No, I’m going to shift you onto my back. You’re going to need to hold on though. I know that everything in your body must hurt right now, but I need you to be strong and hold on, alright?”

 

“Of course,” she says, voice steeling. I can feel the slight clench of her muscles, determined and still fighting as I close the distance with the last few steps.

 

“Okay, I’m going to put you down, gently. Then you’re going to have to climb on my back, alright?”

 

“I’ve got this, Kara.” I grab her legs and her torso, like she’s a breakable glass between my hands, as I set her down on the hard cement. Quickly, I turn around and squat, making it as easy as possible for her to climb on.

 

Slowly but surely, I feel her hands clamber up my back and wrap themselves securely. “Okay,” she says, giving me permission to stand up as her legs immediately go to wrap around my waist.

 

“Are you alright, Lee?”

 

“Yeah, let’s go!”

 

***

 

Lena POV

 

She climbs the tree with ease, somehow finding a foothold where there never seems to be one or a handhold in the smallest knot of the tree. It’s almost effortless with her, hands never hesitating for somewhere to hold and carrying me like I weigh no more than a feather. It feels like we’re flying, moving so fast up into the air.

 

Still, it’s not an easy ride. My bones still ache and my skin still burns (less now after bathing in the pool of water), but the chill of the wind against us and the knowledge that I’m secure with Kara makes it easier.

 

I guess I should’ve known she’d never leave me. We promised to protect each other, but still. There was no promise if I started to become dead weight, if I wasn’t worth it anymore. This is a game of survival, not making friends.

 

In almost no time, we reach a branch secure in the sky where no one will see us as long as we stay quiet and she sets me down again, back leaning against the trunk of the tree.

 

“Are you going to be okay up here? Secure?”

 

“Of course. And you’ll be here to catch me if I fall anyways, right?” I joke.

 

She looks back at me, an unspoken apology in her eyes. “I have to go.” What! “Somebody’s out there, getting chased by wolves. They aren’t going to make it out without my help.”

 

“Kara, wolves? You can’t go out there!” I reach out and grab her arm, holding her here with all the strength I have left, but I know she can pull out of it without even trying. “What are you going to do? Stay up here. Safe with me.”

 

“I can’t,” she says with a small shake of her head. “I wish I could, but I just can’t. It’ll be okay. I’ll be right back. And maybe with a new ally, alright?” She smiles that big, assured smile that seems so unafraid and bright.

 

Damn her heroic bravery and damn her smile that never seems to waver and damn the fact that she climbed up a goddamn tree to save me. Damn the fact that I actually like talking to her. Damn the fact that she’s made me care about her. Damn the fact that I’m falling for the only person I know who runs into danger at the expense of themselves.

 

“Stay safe, Kara.” I say, releasing her arm in favor of pulling her head towards mine and pressing a light kiss against her forward. “You better make it back or I’ll kick your ass.”

 

She laughs, beaming back even bigger than before. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it. As always, leave your feelings, critiques, and questions in the comments! I love to read all of them.


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